


Lady of Silver Fountains

by MsSuvarian



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blessings, Curses, Dwobbit, Dwobbit Bilbo Baggins, F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Ori, Gifts, Magic, Mahal - Freeform, Ones, Slavery, War, Yavanna - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 162,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsSuvarian/pseuds/MsSuvarian
Summary: Fifty years have passed since the Mad King Thror of Erebor ordered the capture of the Hobbits living peacefully beside every Dwarven settlement. The Hobbits' beloved Thain-Heir, Bilbo Baggins, grew up hearing stories of the Crazed King, but she never had cause to share the hatred her mother had for the Dwarrow until the Stone Folk raided her caravan to capture her people. She doesn't know why the Children of Mahal are marching them back towards the mountain they fled from, but Bilbo certainly won't be making it easy for them. Mistaken for a simple guard of no importance, Bilbo will protect her kin and take the first chance at freedom she can grasp for them. Until then, she will hide her true identity and her Lady's Gift.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Fíli, Bungo Baggins/Belladonna Took, Dis/Vili, Drogo Baggins/Primula Brandybuck, Female Bilbo Baggins/Fili, Kíli/Ori
Comments: 229
Kudos: 404





	1. ONE

-LoSF-

“Bilbo, the others are tiring.” Primula sat at ease on the pony-driven carriage with leather reins grasped familiarly in small hands. Bilbo, walking at her younger cousin's side not far from turning wheels, cast shrewd eyes around their kin, taking note of the sighs and grumbles. Only the few tweens accompanying the trading caravan seemed to have energy under the relentless heat. It was an unusually hot summer. Her kin, now used to the coolness of the rocky cliffs shadowing their newest settlement, tired quickly under the blaze.

“Mistfield has made Hobbits unused to such heat. It's a testament to their resilience to have lasted this long without complaint.” Hobbits nearby enough to hear the kind praise ducked with pinked cheeks. It was a rare thing to hear such words from the warrior woman.

“Perhaps we should stop. The river is as good here as it is further along the trail.”

“It is not the location of the river I care for.” Bilbo turned her eyes to her cousin. She looked happy and rested, but there was a barely noticeable pinch around her brow and mouth to tell of her discomfort. Bilbo frowned at the sight. She worried over Prim in her delicate situation, but the woman stubbornly refused to stay behind from their yearly trade caravan to Rivendell. She wanted one last adventure in before the babe not yet showing in her belly joined her small family in Mistfield.

“What do you care for?”

Bilbo looked pointedly at the heavily wooded hills surrounding them. Groaning branches laden with green leaves cast shadows so dark not even her superior sight could see through the thicket. It was made worse by the cluster of rocks dotting the hills on both sides of the river. If there was to be an ambush, this would be the perfect place for one.

“You think we will be attacked?” Prim's voice had fallen to whisper as she studied Bilbo's stern expression.

“It's the perfect place to do so.”

“Bilbo, we haven't been bothered since we fled from Erebor's boundaries fifty winters ago.”

“We hadn't been bothered in the Shire for centuries before Orcs came, and we were left alone for another hundred years before Dwarrow drove us out of Greenvale. Mistfield is still hidden and undisturbed by any of the free folk, but that doesn't mean we won't be attacked on the open road.” Prim fell silent at the soft rebuke. A trembling hand protectively held her stomach for only a second, but it was a second not missed by sharp silver eyes. Bilbo took a deep breath and released it in a low, soft whistle. A sharper one followed it in two rapid bursts of sound. Prim huffed as every pony obediently stopped with little care for what their handlers were doing.

“Oh, how I wish I had been born with your magic.”

“It's not magic, Prim. The Blessing of Yavanna isn't learned or taught. Only the Green Lady can decide who will inherit which of her Gifts.”

“True, but being born with your Gift is the rarest. Only one Hobbit every ten or so generations has it.”

“That's because it only appears when it is needed most.”

“Yes,” Primula agreed with a wide grin. “I can think of some who need you more than others. For your gifts, of course.”

Bilbo only rolled her eyes at the suggestive curve of a delicate brow. Ignoring the amused cackling, she held her hand up for her cousin. Hobbits were already rushing around them to set up a few tents. The younger lads in the caravan quickly took the ponies to the river. They'd get their fill before moving closer to the woods for grass and shade.

With little effort, Bilbo gently lifted Prim from the carriage. She carried her a few paces before letting furry feet touch the ground. She earned a fierce glare for her troubles, but only grinned at her favorite Hobbit lass. They were soon joined by another of her favorites, Flambard Took.

“How long will we stay here?” His scarred face offered a tired grin. He was a veteran of the caravans and knew the route well enough to know they wouldn't be stopping for the day despite the stifling heat. The location wasn't secure enough for a safe camp.

“We will leave after lunch. Let our kin cool by the river and in the shade. Make sure the ponies rest. No practice riding for the tweens this stop,” Bilbo said simply, mussing Flambard's black curls before he could do his customary bow. She hated when they did that. Mockingly or not.

“Fine, fine. Just get your claws out of my hair.” Bilbo's long neck fell back and laughter spilled from a grinning mouth. The sound chased Flambard's retreating figure across the slowly forming camp. Many Hobbits chuckled at his grumblings as he went, but all knew it was just for show. Bilbo and Flambard had been stitched together as children. A familiarity existed between them that even the closest of siblings envied. In peace and war the two were side by side to serve and protect their kin.

“Your tent is ready, Bil.” Primula turned on her heel with an amused look warming her expression. Bilbo followed obediently.

The tent was small, but it didn't need to be large for the two women to fit comfortably. It held only a few chests and storage barrels inside. A wooden tub, partially hidden by a wall of hung fabric, sat towards the back. A stool had been placed a few feet away with rags folded atop. The tub had already been filled with cool water from the river, but was steaming steadily due to the Gift of Hearth several of the Hobbits in the caravan possessed.

“They work fast.” Bilbo mumbled dryly. “We didn't even make it to the tent this time.”

Primula laughed cheerfully at her grousing. “Everyone wants to do their best for our beloved Thain-Heir. Just let the ladies do as they please.”

Bilbo frowned, but didn't comment further. She hated being called that. The Hobbits of Mistfield rarely used the term outside of official meetings. No one saw her any differently since Fortinbras, adviser to the Thain, named her the next in line for Thain, but they certainly rushed to tend to her every need since that announcement. Primula and Drogo said it was the excuse they needed to show their appreciation for all she'd done for them over the years. Bilbo thought they were trying to annoy her into an early grave.

“They left some oil for your feet.” Prim pointed to a small bowl tucked between the towels.

“I'm fine without it.”

“You sure? Those Dwobbit feet aren't as sturdy as our Hobbit stompers.” Primula only cackled at the glare she earned for the comment. “Don't be that way, dear cousin! We just wish to help. Now, how about you get into the bath? I'll pull out a travel dress for you to relax in. No need for your leathers and boots while we're resting.”

“I'd rather wait on a bath. You may use it.”

“What?” Primula squawked with a wide-eyed look. “It's for you!”

“And I don't want a bath right now. I'll do so with the other women tonight. Get in.”

Primula did her best to protest, but nothing could stop Bilbo once her mind was decided upon something. She found herself in the chest high water in a matter of minutes. She grumbled under her breath, but Bilbo knew her cousin well enough to see the relief in her eyes at having her tired muscles soothed by the steaming water.

“You should still change into something more comfortable,” Primula urged.

“And if we're attacked? You'd have me without any weapons?”

Primula laughed heartily at the very thought of Bilbo ever being defenseless. “Bilbo, love, you are a weapon. Just put a dress on. Nothing bad will happen."

“Fine, but I reserve the right to remind you of this if a group of bandits stumble into camp.”

Primula nodded her agreement through her chuckles, but said nothing more on the matter.

A steady stream of chatter started through the tent as Bilbo swiftly picked out a dress for Primula and herself. She carefully wrapped her weapons, leathers, and boots in a dirtied cloak before tucking the bundle into the bottom of a large satchel. She dropped a beautiful cloak and elegant dress on top of the bundle to hide it from curious tweens. They'd taken off with her blades far too many times to leave them within view. Last time she didn't recover them all from the woods the rascals practiced throwing them in.

Satisfied that no nosy younglings would be able to swipe her weapons without dumping out the satchel, something none would do for fear of ruining the dress and cloak, Bilbo turned her focus to her cousin.

With the sleeves of the dress only reaching a few inches above her elbow, Bilbo didn't hesitate to submerge her arms into the soapy water. She carefully tended to her cousin's hair while Prim relaxed with a thankful sigh.

And though it often took Primula a good hour to manage the wild curls, but Bilbo's skillful fingers made quick work of all the tangles and knots.

More quickly than either woman liked, the water cooled and Primula was being carefully helped over the rounded edge. The slight bump would not be noticed by many outsiders on the plump body, but any Hobbit could tell the rounded bulge was more than just a healthy Hobbit figure. Bilbo smiled at the proof of the life her dear cousin carried inside her. Of the first sign of her growing godchild.

“Here, cousin. Dry off with this. Your clothes are on the chair.” Prim grumbled about not wanting to ruin something so beautiful, but took the sun-warmed blanket usually tied to Bilbo's traveling pack with thanks. It was a heavy, soft material made from a rich blue fabric purchased from a traveling merchant out of Gondor. The silver edge, crafted from special threads given to Bilbo by Lord Elrond, swirled and looped beautifully among silken flower petals. The blanket was one of Bilbo's greatest creations. She liked it well enough to always pack it as a more luxurious item than anything else she bothered to carry. The symbols spoke lovingly of home and adventure, wisdom and courage, and protection and valor. It reminded her of both sides of her heritage, as well as the promise she made to both Belladonna and Bungo.

“You should really consider adding your woven goods to our merchant wagons. The boys could easily sell it all in a town of Men within a day.”

“A Dwarf could see it,” Bilbo answered shortly. They'd had such a conversation far too many times before. She did not desire to have it again.

“It's a small possibility, but surely not every Dwarf would be able to make the connection between your symbols and your – erhm, well – your sire.” Prim winced, coughing the last part into her fist as she carefully began pulling on her underthings.

“I won't risk my sire learning of me,” Bilbo answered plainly. She plucked up the still dry blanket with deft fingers to quickly place within the same satchel as her other personal items. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

Primula sighed, but didn't push the conversation further. “I'll manage fine. You go ahead and check the camp over.”

“Very well. I'll be taking these with me.” Bilbo swooped down to gather the dirtied clothes tossed carelessly into a washing basket. “And this.” Quick fingers snatched up the wide bag carrying the remaining clean dresses. “Bye, cousin!”

“Why do you need – Bilbo!” Primula noticed too late that the dress hanging on the back of the chair was one of the beautifully crafted ones designed by a Lady of Elrond's Court to be worn by the Thain-Heir at elven dinner parties. “I can't wear this! Get back here!”

Bilbo answered with a cackle as she bolted from the tent. Hobbits close to the tent shook their heads in amusement, but said nothing about the familiar antics of the two women.

“She's going to get you back for that.” Flambard tossed a grin his cousin's way, but didn't bother to move from his spot atop the carriage.

“She always does. Here. Put these in the cart. Prim won't be able to waddle herself up for a change of clothes.”

Flambard laughed at the cheeky wink. He took the bag with a grin, but eyed the basket with a mildly disapproving look. “You aren't planning on going to wash her travel attire now, are you?”

“Yes,” Bilbo shrugged.

She turned and started for the river without waiting for a reminder for how there were Hobbits assigned to do such chores. She knew they'd be more than happy to tend to the clothes, but they only did them first thing in the morning before breakfast was even ready. Bilbo had time enough to do them now, so that the clothes could lay on the wagon beside Prim for the rest of the day's travel. They would dry quickly enough in the sun.

“Well, I suppose I'll be joining you.”

“Whatever for?” Bilbo eyed her cousin with a slight frown. He only ever offered to do such things when he was concerned, or something was on the tip of his tongue. As far as she knew, there was no gossip he'd be biting at the bit to tell her.

“I want to talk to you about rumors I heard from the caravan outside of Lord Elrond's territory.”

Bilbo nearly paused at the hushed tone, but forced the sudden grip of ice to flee from frozen muscles to continue walking. A careful tilt of a proud head brought the Hobbit to her side. He remained silent as they walked, but kept a calm expression on his face for the Hobbits bellowing greetings as they quickly made their way across the camp.

Bilbo felt a rush of pride and affection swell towards Flambard. There was a time when she had to constantly remind him to push his thoughts off his face, but now there was no need. He had grown into an excellent adviser and shield-brother. There existed no other Hobbit who she could depend on more than he. His discretion in the face of his internal panic and fear was only a singular example of his worth.

“Sit here.”

Flambard dropped beside the river in the same breath she spoke. He spent a moment fishing out a compact pipe while she knotted up the thick skirts of her dress to wade into the water. The washing basket, now tied carefully with a long strap of leather to the belt of her dress, floated in a lazy bob beside her. It bumped gently against her knee as she began scrubbing the travel grime out of Primula's blouse. She'd nearly finished when Flambard's voice finally rang out.

“Dwarrow are being called back to their mountains.”

Bilbo's fingers twitched, but otherwise she appeared as though the news hadn't sent a jolt pure of terror through her. “I see.”

“Bilbo,” he began carefully, almost fearfully, “the last time all the Dwarrow were called to their mountain homes...”

“The last time Hobbits were enslaved by a Mad King.”

Flambard looked down with a prominent frown. Bilbo herself was fighting to keep a scowl from her face. It was a topic no Hobbit, not even those who were only half like herself, cared to talk about.

It was fifty years ago when Dwarrow were ordered back to their mountains in an attempt to stop Hobbits from escaping when the Mad Dwarf King of Erebor ordered all Hobbits who lived beside every inhabited Dwarven settlement to be separated from their kin if they showed any signs of carrying magic.

Belladonna and Bungo had managed to escape with most of the settlement outside of Erebor, but many died by using their Gifts to buy time for their fellow Hobbits. Those who were too old to make the move did what they could to stop those who fled from being followed.

Many faunts were lost in the following months of harsh travels with little to no provisions. Women were lost along with the babes in their stomachs when conditions became too harsh. In a single night, every Hobbit who could do so fled into the wilderness. By daybreak, the only ones left at the base of the mountain no longer drew breath. By nightfall, the Hobbits of Middle Earth were once again a Wandering Race looking for a home.

The Hobbits found a new home in the shadows of the Misty Mountains. It wasn't the safest of places, being far too close to Orcs and Goblins and foul beasts of dark origins, but it was somewhere none would have thought them to settle.

Runners were sent out to gather all the Hobbits who had managed to escape from the other settlements. Where thousands of Hobbits had thrived months before the escape attempts were made, only a few hundred remained after the fight to freedom.

In the end, their population was only a fifth of what it had been.

The rest were taken to Yavanna's Gardens to roam freely in The Green Pastures.

It would be decades before any Hobbit dared to venture from Mistfield. It would have been decades more if not for twin Elf Lords taking a tumble down into their camp in attempt to escape an ambush. It had been the sons of Lord Elrond who convinced the Thain to reach out to one who had never shown them anything but kindness.

Bilbo had gone with the first caravan in order to protect her kin, and she had lead every single one since.

In all her years, however, she'd never ran into a Dwarf while traveling.

A few of her cousins spotted them in cities every few years, but they were never seen in turn.

Hobbits hadn't been hunted since the very year they fled the mountains, but news of the Dwarrow being forced to return didn't bode well. It meant the Dwarrow were planning something.

_But what?_

“There is nothing we can do about it for now. I'll send word to Elrond. He will provide any information he has. The Eagles may also be able to tell us about any odd movement. Beorn will certainly let us know if a Dwarf steps on his land.”

“Aye,” Flambard agreed with a wide grin, “that he will. May just bring with him the head as proof.”

Bilbo released a low, laughing breath before shooting her cousin a stern look. “Do a check on the camp. Shadow Primula afterwards. I do not want others to worry, but make sure our fighters are on guard. Keep the tweens and less capable women to the center of camp. There's no reason to suspect an attack, but that doesn't mean one will not come. Prim is the highest priority if such a thing occurs. She's the only one with child, and is carrying the heir to the Baggins Estate. She cannot be harmed.”

“As you command, Thain-Heir.” Flambard bowed and swiftly fled before Bilbo could toss the pebble she'd scooped up at him.

She huffed in annoyance, but returned to her task with a heavy weight pressed against her shoulders. It was one she'd carry without complaint, but it was heavy all the same.

-LoSF-

“What do you think?” Víli, who crouched carefully on the cliffs overlooking the field the Hobbits, hummed quietly in thought.

“If we want to take them by surprise, this will be the time to do it. The Wizard's information at least proved true for the location, but I do not feel right about going about our task this way.”

Frerin grimaced, but said nothing else. He'd already gone through such arguments with his brother-in-law more times than he cared to count. There was no honor in what they were about to do, but it did not mean such a task didn't need done. They had to gather as many Hobbits as they could to bring to the mountain before it was too late.

“We have no choice. This is the only way.”

“We can try talking to them. The Thain-Heir will hear us out.”

Even as he shook his head, Frerin shifted his gaze to the tent in the center of camp that stood apart from the others. A Hobbit lass had stepped out moments before carrying a basket and bag. She appeared to be the one who tended to the Thain-Heir, if the laundry she carried was anything to go by. The Thain-Heir herself popped out of the tent only long enough to speak to a nearby Hobbit before ducking back inside. It was but a moment she stood in view, but it was long enough for a Dwarf to be able to tell the higher quality of her clothes. There was no doubt she was higher ranking than any of the Hobbits she traveled with.

“We have no choice,” Frerin repeated, clasping Víli's shoulder gently. “Come. We will lead our Dwarrow and the Men. If we do this right, none of the Hobbits will be harmed.”

“Aye. They'll be fine as long as the Men behave themselves.” Víli's tone spoke clearly of his opinion of the Men thrust upon their company. Frerin didn't scold him for it. He felt much the same way.

A flicker of light caught his attention as he started down the rocky slope. He turned to see the Hobbit who'd left the Thain-Heir earlier step into the river. He frowned at seeing her far off from the little camp without protection. She seemed too young to be on her own, but perhaps of age for a Hobbit. The lad sitting at the shore certainly looked older, but it didn't appear as if he could do much else besides sit and smoke.

He tore his gaze from the strange way the lass' hair glowed in the sunlight to begin giving orders. The Dwarrow moved quickly and with as little sound as possible. They all knew what they stood to lose if the Hobbits were alerted to their presence before they were close enough to block off any chance at escape.

They'd learned the last time that there was no way to follow a Hobbit who wished to disappear.

Wincing away at such memories, Frerin motioned for Bofur to join him. The miner and toy-maker was a good friend of the Royal Family of Erebor, and was brought along in the retrieval due to both that and his familiarity with Hobbits.

“We're ready to enter the woods. We'll need to be quick and silent. Send Nori my way after he does one last area scan. You stay close to the center. I want you to be ready to protect the Hobbits if any of the Men prove to be too aggressive. Fíli is already among them and keeping a close eye out. Follow his lead if he makes a move against anyone.”

“Aye,” Bofur agreed, bobbing his head a bit before hurrying off in the direction of Erebor's Spymaster.

Víli shifted at his side with a sigh, but didn't comment on the orders. Frerin knew he wished to go to his son, but the young heir was protected well with Bifur trailing his every step. The old warrior had berserker strength and a century of battle experience at the ready to handle any threat to his not yet of age nephew. Of course, that was only if said nephew didn't just stab the problem and be done with it. He was, after all, a Durin. Even the shyness inherited from Víli couldn't dampen the fury in old blood when roused.

“Come on. Your eldest will be fine. Nori will start for me soon. We don't want to waste any more time.”

Frerin stepped through the treeline with little pride and much determination. An odd sense washed over him as he thought about what he was leading his Dwarrow to do. It left him feeling unclean, but he would not turn back. He'd been chosen as the one to lead trustworthy dwarrow to find the Hobbits and bring them to his brother. There was too much at stake to let shame stop him from proceeding.

Gathering his resolve like a cloak of armor to protect his pride from what was to come, Frerin twisted his head around to get a better sense of his location. He'd managed to stay near the center of the Hobbit camp. The Thain-Heir's tent was within clear view. There was no turning back now.

“All 'obbits are in the camp, 'sides a wee lass tendin' to some washin'. The lad with 'er is 'oppin' 'round the camp now. Got his eyes on the royal lass' tent. Reckon he's a guard o' sorts.”

Nori's sudden voice at his left didn't startle him, but it did make him grimace. Time was out, and there was no going back. It was time to make their move.

“Give the signal. We take the Hobbits in one minute. Keep an eye on Fíli.”

As Nori disappeared into the shadows to pass along his orders, Frerin's eyes fell on the glinting hair in the distance as the head it fell from dropped down closer to the river. Distance and the curtain of shimmering gray kept most of the lass' face hidden, but his heart still jolted painfully at the look of tired determination and grim acceptance on the round face.

The expression brought forth another round face set in the same lines as tears welled and fell far too quickly to ever hope of stopping.

His heart lurched in pain at the memory of that face.

He ripped his gaze away with a scowl, burying the pain and sense of failure with the stubborn will his line was known for.

“Let's get this over with.”


	2. TWO

-LoSF-

Hobbits were screaming as men and Dwarrow surrounded the stationed caravan from all sides. There were too many against them to stand and fight, but Bilbo didn't hesitate to do what she could.

She ducked and whirled between the panicked masses. The prickle of grass under sturdy feet and brush of soft fabric around bare ankles reminded her that she wasn't dressed in sturdy leathers anymore.

She cursed herself for allowing Prim to convince her to change from trousers into a simple travel dress. If she'd remained in her usual travel clothes, weapons would still be strapped about her.

Instead, she only had a small dagger hidden in the sash around her hips and the brutal strength of her own body.

She'd make do.

She'd worked with far less before.

Blows fell on any who tried to grab at her as she sprinted across the small clearing. Many of the Hobbits were already herded together.

She ached to go to them, but she needed to get to the private tent in the center of everything.

Primula was inside.

She was inside the tent meant for Thain-Heir.

Her tent.

There was no telling what the Men and Dwarrow would do to her if they mistook her cousin for herself.

A sudden scream stopped Bilbo from charging further into the chaos. Her head snapped around before the shrill sound died off. Terror sank frozen claws into taunt muscles at the sight across the field.

Primula, pale and shaken and trembling with blue eyes blown impossibly wide in fear, dangled helplessly in the grasp of two dark-haired Dwarrow. A third, this one light-haired, stood in front of her.

He was taller than the other two with golden hair thick with waves and braids. A just as golden mustache was carefully braided into a thick beard adorned with several smaller braids. The Dwarf was an intimidating sight in his blonde furs and burnished leathers shining like molten gold. Every inch of him exuded power and strength. There was no doubt he was in charge.

Despite his near stifling presence, Bilbo did not hesitate to roar at him in Hobbitish when he tossed an unconscious Flambard to a nearby Dwarf. Blue eyes snapped to her. They widened slightly as she rushed forward, but a wall of Dwarrow formed between the two of them before she got close.

She didn't let such a trivial thing deter her.

Shouts of surprise rang through the air from all sides when Bilbo plowed right into the Dwarf directly in her path.

There was no hesitation on her part for the way she drove her shoulder into his sternum. She didn't apologize for the pain on the Dwarf's face when all her strength and weight slammed him into the ground at the single point. It was his own mistake for thinking her a simple Hobbit and not bracing against her charge.

She was back on her feet within a breath. The Dwarf didn't get back up.

Bilbo bolted forward, dodged the Dwarrow who threw themselves from either side of the fallen Dwarf in an attempt to drive her to the ground, pulled free the dagger at her hip, and shot towards the Dwarf responsible for the attack on her kin.

A low thrum cut through the worried shouts.

Her body twisted mid-step, arm coming up to protect her shoulder out of a primal instinct born from a life of avoiding the poisonous arrows of orcs and goblins.

An arrow glanced off her dagger.

The force and angle sent both weapons into the air.

Nimble fingers snatched them back before she turned her eyes back to the golden-haired Dwarf.

He jerked away from the arrow she'd thrown in time to save his eye and possibly life, but not in time to avoid a shallow graze to his jaw. It was no more than a prick to a Dwarf, but it was enough to snap him out of the daze he'd been in.

An order fell from his lips in Dwarven tongue.

It sounded harsh and brutal, but it was anything but.

Her shouting kin didn't know it, but he'd ordered for her safe capture.

It surprised her enough to slow her advance.

The moment of hesitation cost her.

A hard body slammed into her side. The air left her lungs in a rush, but being winded was the least of her concerns.

Arms of iron locked around her slighter frame. They were loose enough that she wouldn't bruise, but tight enough to keep her from slipping away.

The Dwarf in front of her smirked.

Rage that had nothing to do with her people's situation filled her at the sight of him belittling her abilities as a warrior-maiden.

Glaring defiantly at the one who dared to harm her kin, Bilbo released the dagger in the same moment she shoved with all the force she could muster against the brute holding her.

He staggered backwards, but got his feet under him quickly enough to fall to his knees rather than his back as she hoped.

Still, it was enough.

The dagger slid down her skirt like a stone in a stream. Her knee bumped it further into the air as they tipped back.

Then, with all the strength her Dwarf muscle and Hobbit feet gave her, she struck the end with a violent kick.

It sliced through the air quick as a blink.

The small blade managed to pierce the Dwarf's leathers, but it wasn't long or thick enough to do any true harm.

It did, however, wipe the look off his face.

She glared from her place on the ground.

He scowled in return.

“Stop! Do not fight!”

Primula's cry cooled the anger burning beneath her skin. She stilled instantly against the Dwarf pinning her, but didn't remove her blistering glare from the one in charge.

He looked between them for a long moment, seeming to weigh something, before nodding to himself.

“Chain the Hobbits together. None are to be left behind. Come, Mistress Hobbit. You shall be kept separate. It seems having you at hand will control this wild creature.”

The Hobbits' cries of distress were nearly drowned by Bilbo's shriek of outrage.

She roared insults in her mother's tongue at the Dwarf. The one behind her grunted in the effort it took to keep her against him as she bucked and thrashed. Several Dwarrow stepped forward to help him, but she struck out with her feet and gnashed her teeth at any who dared reach for her.

She'd rather die than ever be forced into chains again.

“NO!”

The wails of the Hobbits stilled her.

Her eyes moved from the hatted Dwarf trying to calm her with soothing words and a gentle but tight smile to the source of her kin's despair. Horror turned her to stone.

“Ah. I thought so. You must be the guard of this woman.” The Golden Dwarf spoke as if bored while holding her cousin hostage with a dagger at her throat. Her dagger. The very one she'd thrown. The last gift from beloved Bungo. Rage simmered beneath the ice freezing limbs still. “You won't fight while she's held prisoner, right?”

Bilbo said nothing.

It was answer enough.

“Wonderful,” he said with a grin. The careless way he twirled the dagger far too close Primula's neck ripped a strangled noise of horror and panic from her throat. The grip around her tightened in response, but the rumbling hum through the chest against her back was meant to soothe rather than warn.

The Dwarf barked an order to someone, but Bilbo paid no mind to what he said. Her eyes were on Primula's. The woman who stood to lose more than just her own life if a single blade fell upon her.

“Harm him, and I will repay the offense by harming this one.” The Golden Dwarf's sudden shift in tone, now rumbling with threat and heavy with steel, had Bilbo ripping her gaze from Prim to the carefully approaching Dwarf.

He looked similar in coloring to the beast barking orders, but his flaxen hair turned polished gold in the fading light of the sun was straighter and, though just as long and carefully tended to, his mustache was not braided into a beard the way the Golden Dwarf's was. In fact, he barely had a beard at all. Enough to be full, certainly, but not grown out in the way of must Dwarrow. That alone told her he was younger than the others, but old enough to be broad and muscled.

He held shackles in his hand and an apology in blue eyes, but she didn't flinch as he knelt before her despite every nerve thrumming with the need to escape.

“Please, hold still. I don't wish to hurt you.” It was an earnest statement, but Bilbo wanted to kick him for such hypocrisy given what he was about to do.

Cries of dismay rang out from the Hobbits when he grabbed her ankles. The men roared at the perceived assault against one of their women. Women quickly grasped at the tweens to haul them closer in attempt to block his actions from view.

Bilbo couldn't blame them. Hobbit feet were not to be touched by anyone besides a healer after entering tweenhood. To touch her feet in any type of way was a breech of privacy. Grabbing them as he did was an action only done by a trusted lover.

Though not completely of Hobbit stock, the traditions of her maternal kin were her own. The shock and shame of it burned her stomach the way it would have done any Hobbit, but she would not view the action as an assault the way her kin clearly had. She doubted the Dwarf knew of the grave crime he'd just committed. He was far too young to have been more than a bumbling Dwarfling when Hobbits fled from Dwarrow lands.

Cold metal closed around one ankle to lock down any further thoughts. Her people cried out in their mother tongue. The women raised their voices to rally in her defense as the men offered steadfast support. She showed no reaction. Not even when his shifting arms brushed unintentionally against the sensitive hair on her feet.

She took great pride in having curly, thick hair like her mother before her, though the feet themselves were much smaller and narrower than any Hobbit feet were, and did not allow anyone to touch the soft patches.

Having the Dwarf carelessly brush against them as he grabbed her opposite ankle boiled her blood. She fought down the need to lash out and defend her honor. Primula, who was staring at her with grief and horror, still had a blade at her throat. There was nothing she could do.

“We brought plenty of these.” The Golden Dwarf's voice raised over the crowd while sun warmed fingers curled around her thin ankle. Those fingers slid down to gently grab her foot as he forcibly moved her limb to tighten the clasp further. She strangled silent the voice in her head roaring for blood at having a complete stranger do such an intimate act. The Dwarf would probably hurl his lunch if he knew his slip of hand just proclaimed, rather boldly to all those present at that, the desire to bed her with the intent of producing an heir. “If anyone else wishes to fight, your feet will be bound like this woman's.”

Bilbo swallowed a yelp when the young Dwarf's arm reached out without looking away from the shackles he held. A grip stronger than the iron binding her ankles coiled around her small wrist.

She tensed further at the feel of rough fingertips against the exposed skin there. Though she kept her heart from leaping into a fretful rhythm, she wasn't able to stop the full body flinch of pain at the bruising hold nearly crushing the bones beneath.

Her jaw clenched against the sharp ache. She raised her chin in preparation for some mocking remark, but it never came. The Dwarf's gaze snapped to her nearly in the same moment she flinched. He stared at her face a moment before gentling his hold with a hesitant, apologetic smile.

He was quick and careful as he shackled her wrists in the same way he'd done her feet. There was enough chain between them to make walking easy, but running or quick paces would be tricky.

Still, if the need came, she'd manage.

“If you're willing to listen to my orders, however, you need only for your hands to be bound.”

With a strength that surprised her, Bilbo was pulled by the chain between her wrists from her sitting position against the Dwarf with a bow.

Either the Dwarf didn't know his own strength, or he did it on purpose, but the how of it mattered little when she collided harshly into Dwarven leather.

He held her gently, one broad hand keeping her hands hostage against the soft furs lining a heavy coat and the other curling around her upper arm protectively. He jerked away from her the moment she was steady. Bilbo would have shown her surprise at his earnest apology when he quickly stepped back if not for the snort of amusement across from them.

Instead, her posture snapped straight and proud as she turned to face the Golden Dwarf sporting a far too amused expression. She gave it her best effort to turn the pompous bastard to ashes with a single look.

His smirk fell, but only to twist into a pleased grin.

Her glare darkened.

His grin brightened.

“It will be up to you to decide.”

Wrathful shouts erupted from the Hobbits. Peaceful folk they may be, but not even Hobbits would bend to the will of a beast who laid paws upon their kin.

Especially not an underage one.

And though she looked of age for a Hobbit, she still had another twenty years to go before she was of full maturity for a Dwobbit.

It was Primula's voice that silenced everyone once again.

“ _Peace, my friends! We must do as they say. We cannot allow ourselves to be injured or burdened more than we already are!_ ” Hobbitish fell from her cousin's lips as sharp as any command she herself would give. Every Hobbit looked to the pale woman. Only Bilbo kept her gaze on the Dwarf who dared to cock an amused brow at her.

“ _Cousin, please._ ” Primula pleaded, eyes looking to her and no other. “ _They must have come for a reason. If it is political, they must not know you are Thain-Heir. If it has to do with the Gifts of our people, they cannot ever know what you are. Your Gift cannot be abused. It is too precious._ ”

Every Hobbit nodded and looked to her pleadingly. She sensed the weight of every stare on her back, but there was only one gaze that mattered.

Bilbo rose her chin, ignoring the hush that fell the crowd, and pitched her voice to carry to her cousin.

“You ask me not to kill this whelp?” The Dwarf seemed more amused than insulted.

“I do. Hold, my dearest cousin. You are needed to look after everyone in my absence.”

Anger rolled through her when blue eyes sparked with mirth.

May the good earth swallow the fool in an early grave, but even he knew she had little choice.

“Very well.” She inclined her head towards Primula, but didn't let her eyes stray from the blue gaze watching her. “I will, like our ancestors before us, consent to this enslavement for the sake of my kin's safety.”

The Dwarf's smile fell. He grimaced before slowly turning his head to the Dwarf with a bow and the young one. He whispered something too low for even her Dwobbit hearing to make out through the clanking of armor and chains. The Archer didn't look pleased, but he nodded and stalked away.

The other one, the young dwarf with eyes like the blue sky above, sent one last apologetic look her way before stalking after the Archer. He looked as though he was going to say something, perhaps words meant to comfort or soothe, but the Golden Dwarf rumbled an order at him in a harsh tone that had him glaring and stomping away.

Bilbo kept her glinting gaze on the Golden Dwarf until he was out of her line of sight. He'd cast a look over his shoulder just before he disappeared, and Bilbo was truly lost at the look of pain, loss, and remembrance that rippled across his expression before he schooled it and turned away.

She wasn't sure what such a look was for, or why the younger dwarf felt the need to offer her any type of words.

Thoughts of confusing blonde Dwarrow were pushed aside as her kin formed a tight circle around her to offer a sense of comfort and protection. There was little time to ponder over confounding Dwarrow with her kin in such dire need of her focus.

Answers would have to wait.

-LoSF-

Fingers clenched and uncurled continuously at the ghost sensation of skin as smooth and warm as sun-touched stone pressed hauntingly into calloused palms.

Fíli turned his eyes away from the gathered Hobbits to avoid seeking her out in the crowd. He'd caught himself doing that far too many times already. And if he noticed, there was little doubt his father and Nori hadn't.

Still, he hoped they'd be too busy teasing his uncle to bother him. He'd not have any answers for him even if they asked why his eyes sought her form among the Hobbits.

A smirking Dwarf with crimson hair sauntered over. Green eyes set upon Frerin with sharp humor to ease some of Fíli's worry. If he wasn't the one that hunting look was directed at, then he was still in the clear from any interrogation.

“Nori.” Frerin inclined his head in greeting. “Everything seems to have gone exactly as planned.”

“Aye. Only received two injuries on our side.”

“Two?” Fíli hadn't known any Dwarrow had been injured. They'd taken the Hobbits by surprise during a relaxing stop in their travels for a reason. They had been completely unprepared to be swarmed by men and Dwarrow. “Who are the injured?”

Nori shot him a look of amusement. The pointed glance to his uncle's jaw was hint enough. “Only one Dwarf. He's been injured twice by the same wee 'obbit.”

“Only scratches,” Frerin rumbled, rubbing at his face with the back of his hand.

Fíli stifled a laugh even as his mind went back to the image of the little Hobbit lass seemingly dancing on the air itself before the sting of a skillfully thrown arrow ripped his uncle from whatever haze had taken hold. Mahal, but he had thought she was beautiful when he spotted her charging across the camp towards Frerin. She was beauty, grace, and wind incarnate when she fought. The thrown arrow had been a blessing to him more than a threat to his uncle. He'd have stood there staring like a fool if the sudden surge of panic for Uncle Frerin's safety hadn't brought him back from whatever enchantment her presence cast upon him.

“Lucky that. Oin wants to look at ye. Dori can fix ye armor when we get back to Erebor.”

“The knife barely nicked me.” Frerin swatted away the fingers reaching to trace the slight rip in his leathers. “Sharp blade, but not long or wide enough to properly cut through Dwarven leathers. No need to pull your brother from his duties to my sister.”

“Aye. If it was, we'd be sending word to our King 'bout how his battle-tested brother was killed with a wee pocket knife by a feisty little 'obbit lass.”

“We'd hear his laughter from here,” Víli said as he approached. He looked troubled, but he'd been so since receiving Thrain's final orders as king before Thorin was handed the crown. Still, there was something else in his gaze that caught Fíli's attention.

“Are you alright?”

A tired but comforting smile was directed at him, but worry still rolled in his father's eyes. “I'm well.”

“What's wrong, brother? The lass cause you problems?” Frerin's voice was teasing, but worry crossed his expression when Víli remained silent a moment too long. “Did the wild Hobbit try to fight someone? I thought taking the Thain-Heir would keep her under control. Having you shadow her until the last Hobbit was chained was only meant to be a precaution.”

“It's not that.” Víli huffed tiredly before crossing his arms. “I don't feel right about this. We all know I disagree with the way Thrain has chosen to go about bringing the Hobbits to the safety of the mountain, but there's more to it. I felt it when I laid eyes on that silver-haired lass.”

Frerin and Nori both frowned. Fíli couldn't blame them. His father possessed an unnerving intuition that was never misplaced. If something felt amiss, then something was. “What did you feel when you saw her?” It certainly couldn't be anything romantic. Not only were his parents happily married, but Dís was his One. It was impossible to find any true interest in another when you recognized the other half of your being.

“When I turned my bow and took aim at her,” Víli paused, jaw working as he struggled to find the words, “a sense of wrong hit me. I wasn't aiming to do anything but to glance the back of her shoulder to slow her down, so there was no reason for it. Neither gender nor age would have mattered when no ill intent was meant with my aim. I've done more damage in a training spar with you boys. It was something else.”

“What else is there? No one would fault you for not wanting to aim at a race we owe a debt to.” Though Frerin was ready to dismiss it, Nori was already turning a thoughtful eye out into the crowd as if seeking a new mystery.

“Aye, no Dwarf would. It wasn't that, though.”

“I'm sure all is fine,” Frerin soothed. He inclined his head to the Hobbits being forced into the middle of the large party of men and Dwarrow. “It looks like we are ready to go. We must hurry back to my father's camp. I'm not sure Thorin will tolerate the elves much longer.”

“I don't think the Hobbits will appreciate being rushed. They're already being forced to handle this situation under threat of retaliation for any misconduct,” Fili muttered darkly. He was still angry at being forced away from his little brother during such a dangerous time to fetch the Hobbits, but he did not blame the small beings for any of it. They were not at fault for the foolishness of his kin, and madness of his great-grandfather. He hadn't appreciated Frerin's threat against them with that knowledge sitting heavily at the front of his mind.

“Don't worry, lad.” Frerin's large hand gently fell against Fíli's back just above the blades strapped there. “It was only meant to scare them a bit. We will not harm them. I don't feel right about false threats, but this must be done to get them moving. It is dangerous the longer they are out in the open.”

“We will do what we can to keep them comfortable.”

Fíli nodded at his father's assurance. Any reply died as his wandering gaze landed on a head of silver. Eyes that flashed in rage were now warm and gentle as they stared down at a young Hobbit. A mouth that hurled insults like one would a blade now curled softly. A loving expression melted away the cold anger she'd worn in his presence. Now, with her focus on one she cared for, there was nothing to distract from her beauty.

But it wasn't just the beauty that caught him. There was something about the woman that held him fast. As wild and fierce as she'd come into his life, Fíli recognized the small signs of sorrow and frustration in her gaze. It was the look of one burdened with a purpose they didn't wish for. He'd seen it too often in his own reflection to mistake it.

What he didn't know was what burdened her heart so heavily.

“Ye won't be making that one comfortable if ye keep throwing your best impersonation of Thorin at 'er,” Nori said with no small amount of amusement.

Fíli jerked his gaze away with a grumble, but didn't comment on his thoughts. It would be best not to say anything with Víli glancing between him and the lass with thoughtful eyes.

“We'll do what we can, but getting to the safety of our brethren and allies is for the best. The Hobbits are being hunted whether they know it or not. I won't chance them out in the open like this. Some discomfort and skipped meals is better than being dead,” Frerin said into the silence. “Go give the Men the order to head out. Nori, stay with me. We need to discuss further protection for the Hobbits. The Lord of Dale didn't want half of these Men coming with us, but the Master of Lake-Town was adamant in his choices. I'm inclined to side with Bard. Anything the Lake Master wants cannot be good.”

The Dwarrow moved to do as ordered. Fíli glanced one last time towards the gathered Hobbits before heading to the front of the march.

He pretended not to feel the weight of a silver-eyed stare burning into his back like a brand as he walked away.


	3. THREE

-LoSF-

Fíli cast troubled eyes back towards the Hobbit tent for the tenth time in as many minutes. It was the fifth day of their grueling trek across half of all of Arda, but it was neither the weather nor the travel that bothered him.

It was the eerie silence that suddenly encompassed the Hobbits. Where before there had been grumbles and complaints in that strange language of theirs, now only silence stretched from one Hobbit to the next.

Fíli had wanted to approach them in hopes of soothing whatever troubled thoughts had taken hold, but Frerin kept him from going. His father, however, went to the Hobbits first thing in the morning every day. He often did not return until the large tent that kept the gentle folk hidden from straying eyes was up and in use.

It irritated him, but Fíli understood why his dad was allowed to go where he wasn't. Víli would not be recognized as a royal among any Hobbits old enough to possibly make the connection between Fíli's own appearance and Frerin's. Though he doubted a Hobbit would actually try and stab him, both Nori and Frerin were fully against him walking with the smaller race.

So, with bitten back growls of frustration, Fíli kept his silence on the matter. He would have continued if not for the muteness in the middle of the marching company. Other Dwarrow had noticed and fidgeted at the downtrodden looks on most of the Hobbits faces. A few had approached earlier that day only to be sent scampering quickly away by the Hobbit equivalent of Uncle Thorin.

The Hobbit, named Wild One by Frerin after every attempt to learn her name was met with blank stares from her kin, was a force to be reckoned with despite being handicapped more than the others. She was taller and stronger than any of the Hobbits with them, but it was that fierce glower that sent even the fiercest of Dwarrow jumping away.

Those silver eyes could strike fear into any soul just as easily as any pair of Durin Blues. She wielded them masterfully to deter anyone from advancing upon the kin who constantly huddled close to her for protection and assurance at every turn.

If the gaze didn't do it, they learned to fear her serrated tongue.

Nori, the crazy bastard, found it overly amusing to watch her turn Dwarrow and Men alike into flinching, abashed puddles in their boots. He'd made the comment more than once that the lass would be well liked by Dís.

Fíli couldn't help but agree.

Especially after hearing how she ripped into his own father after he'd agitated her two days prior. Víli was a proud Dwarf, but even he admitted to being painfully reminded of his wife in one of her fiercer moods.

That was reason enough for most to stay away.

It only urged Víli on to try and befriend her.

And made Frerin more hesitant to allow Fíli anywhere near her.

Still, Fíli couldn't help but to track her movements. He often was caught by Bofur and Bifur trailing her steps with an intense stare. Frerin had cackled at him for glowering at the Hobbit lad who always stood far too close than was respectable.

Víli laughed himself to tears when he mentioned as much.

He then happily informed him the lad, Flambard was his name, was her dear cousin and second-in-command when it came to guarding the caravan. Apparently the two were as close as he and his own brother. One was never far from the other, and they always watched the others back.

Despite what his kin said, that wasn't the reason he stopped glaring at the Hobbit. And despite what Frerin said, Fíli was sure he worried over being the one to cause the lad harm. If they were truly like he and Kíli, it would be a long time before the Wild One could even look at Frerin without wanting to scalp him.

It certainly put a damper on getting the Hobbits to trust the Dwarrow.

Just as much as their sudden silence did.

“It ain't right to see the lot lookin' so down,” Bofur suddenly piped in at his side. He had a tray extended towards him, but his eyes were on the Hobbit tent. “I've known 'obbits since I were a wee pebble. Happy lot full o' music, dance, and laughter. A quiet 'obbit is nah right.”

Fíli sighed, but didn't disagree. He simply took the tray of fresh food and marched towards the tent at his back. The waspish voice of the Thain-Heir reached him even before the tent flaps were pulled aside to let him in.

Frerin and Víli stood in the tent, bent over the desk where maps were spread out, and staring at the irate Hobbit lass. She marched back and forth, hands gesturing wildly, spitting common and Hobbitish so rapidly Fili couldn't tell where the start of one language ended and the other began.

“Umm, dinner?” His uncertain inquiry earned the full blaze of her blue eyes. He winced. “Sorry for interrupting. We thought you might be getting hungry.”

“I, like my kin, have been hungry for hours, Master Dwarf,” she snapped back with a particularly cold glance at his uncle.

“As I've said before, we cannot stop to feed your kin as much as you would prefer.” Frerin sounded bored as he ground out what had already been spoken more than a dozen times.

“Then release my guard. She knows how to properly care for my kin.” Blue eyes dropped to the maps with a loathing sneer. “She also has no need of maps to cross any portion of the Misty Mountains. She may be the elder to us tweens, but her sight is better than most. I'd bet she could cross those blasted peaks blindfolded.”

“If she keeps glaring at my Dwarrow, she may very well find herself needing to.”

Thain-Heir seemed startled at Frerin's cross tone for all of one moment before rage and pride contorted her expression into a vicious smirk.

“Oh? Still can't get her to behave to your standards, Majesty?” The mocking way she said his uncle's title set Frerin's jaw off, but she plowed right on over anything he tried to say. “It is your own fault. Not only did you take me from her, but you harmed Flambard. I already told you that she would not forget the harm caused to him. You're lucky she hasn't decided Master Víli is a threat. Though, if she finds out he is connected to the Durin family, she may just kill him immediately.”

Frerin paused even as Fíli felt his stomach drop to his feet at the certainty in such a scathing tone.

“What do you mean?” He tried to keep his voice from giving away the sudden concern making his heart freeze, but the Thain-Heir set a knowing look on him before dropping herself into a chair at the desk. She ignored the angry muttering from Frerin when her elbow shifted the maps and instead focused on Fíli.

“You trail after my cousin like a pup, lad. It's not a lie to say you are attracted to her. I will not go so far as to guess your intentions. You certainly are not the first to show interest, and I doubt you will be the last in the long line of suitors after her hand. But I will warn you that she has a strong dislike for the Durin line. It was the madness and cowardice of your kin that stole her parents from her. She may only have true hatred for two specific Dwarrow, but that does not mean she will not be angry at any connected to the cause of our suffering.”

Fíli tried his best to take in the information that surely should have been expected without reacting, but the sudden coolness of his face let him know he was rapidly paling beneath his beard. His expression, whatever it may have become at the thought of the beautiful Hobbit with flashing eyes hating him, seemed to soften the Thain-Heir.

“Peace, lad,” she soothed. “You are young. My cousin was born months after Hobbits fled from your kind. She was raised on the stories of your Royal Line, but you were just a babe. Even if she learns you are a Durin, she will not hold you to the same crimes she holds against the older generation.”

“I see.” He shifted on his feet, eyes bouncing between his father and uncle in hopes of any help in replying to the Hobbit lass.

“Oh, stop looking like I'm a beast straight out of Mordor. Bring me that food.”

Fíli lurched forward to do as told if only to get out of the conversation. He didn't like the way Frerin was staring at him as if he were an annoying puzzle he was being forced to solve rather than his flesh and blood nephew.

“Now that you have your meal,” Frerin finally turned from Fíli to set a civil, if not friendly, smile at the Thain-Heir, “you can give us input on this route.”

The Thain-Heir glared. “I already told you that I have no input to give.”

Though Frerin looked outwardly calm, Fíli knew his uncle well. He was fast going over annoyance to spear straight into anger. If the two of them had another row, it would not end well. Especially if the fearsome guard heard any whispers on the matter.

“Why?” Fíli winced when those thunderous doe eyes snapped to him. “You have traveled this route many times before. Surely you have some experience to share in order to update our own maps.”

The sudden flash of confusion across the Hobbit's face made him look to his father and uncle in askance. Instead of finding reassurance that he'd not said something out of place, Fíli was faced with the exasperated understanding forming like a stormcloud on Frerin's face.

“The Wild One was born around the time of your uprooting.” The kind way of putting what the Hobbits went through earned a blistering glare from the Hobbit, but Frerin continued without apology. “You said so yourself. You, on the other hand, have claimed to be a tween. If memory serves, Hobbit children are called babes until they reach their third year. Fauntling after. Hobbits are considered tweens when they may formally begin looking into courting someone, being twenty, up until they come of adult age at thirty-three. Seeing as you are allowed to leave the safety of home despite not being of age, I'd wager you've at least reached thirty. Thirty was the acceptable age to go on a journey to learn the ropes of any position within a Hobbit village. That puts you being born two decades after your cousin. You don't know the route, because you aren't the one who's been traveling it.”

Silence fell thick in the tent as Frerin studied the rapidly darkening face of the Thain-Heir. She seemed almost livid at his uncle's knowledge of Hobbits.

“It is no longer our way.” Her voice was cold, controlled, and echoing of an emotion felt so deeply that those hearing it at the surface could not fathom the meaning behind it.

“What isn't?”

“You have the knowledge of Before, Master Dwarf. Not of our After. I will say no more on the matter. I'll admit, however, to being younger than my cousin. Now, if you wish to have any help with your maps, you will need to swallow your pride and speak with my guard.”

Frerin snorted. “And you think she would aide us?”

“Yes,” the Thain-Heir responded without hesitation. “She would. You taking a bad route puts Hobbits in danger. She'll drag every last Dwarf by their ear to the right path if it keeps us safe.”

“Pft. I'd very much like to see her try.” The low mumble from Frerin was not quite low enough to be missed by Hobbit hearing.

“You underestimate her.”

“And you overestimate her!” Frerin slammed his knuckles against the table with a rumbling growl. “Hobbits are not made like Dwarrow. Nor like Men. She would not last against the true rage of either.”

Fíli frowned even as the Thain-Heir reared back like a snake ready to strike. To someone who did not know him, the statement was nothing short on patronizing. To Fili, however, it spoke of worry. His uncle feared for the guard's safety if she upset the wrong Dwarf or man with her behavior.

For some reason, his uncle was taking her safety personal.

Even more so than the Thain-Heir's.

“Peace,” Fili intervened quickly when the Hobbit lass stood so quickly and with such anger that her chair was forced away in a harsh movement. “We have only concern for your guard. She has true talent in the position, but she is still a Hobbit. Your race is not known for war the way Dwarrow, Men, and Elves are. She can easily be outmatched and injured against an experienced fighter.”

The Thain-Heir remained silent for a moment. Fili tried not to flinch under her shrewd gaze. It felt as though she were sizing him up for something.

“And if they did?”

Fíli blinked. “What?”

“If one of your company managed to outmatch and injure her, then what? If one of your Dwarrow dared to touch my guard, then what?”

Fíli didn't have to think about it. The sudden rage encompassing him at the mere mention of another Dwarf putting his hands on the smooth, sun-warmed skin that haunted his fingertips set a deafening buzz off in his ears. The sound detached him from any sort of sympathy or compassion. He'd collect blood and beard for the offense of touching such a treasure.

“I would cut the head from the shoulders of any Dwarf who dared to cause her harm.”

The Thain-Heir didn't seem surprised, but both Frerin and his father glanced quickly at him with concern and astonishment. He couldn't find it in him to find such expressions amusing. Not when the Thain-Heir was smiling so viciously at him.

“Good. Now, apply that mindset to all Hobbits. Then, maybe, my cousin will be more inclined to conversation without bloodshed.” Then, with eyes glittering near black with rage, she turned back to Frerin. “And ask her about the damn route. And solutions to Hobbit meals. I'll not be saying another word to you until you do.”

And with that, and one last truly frosty scowl set upon his uncle, the Thain-Heir lifted her tray and stomped across the tent to duck behind the curtain leading to her private sleeping area.

“Well,” Víli drawled with a bemused smirk, “I see you're as charismatic with Hobbit women as you were fifty years ago, Majesty.”

The responding gesture, Fíli was certain, was not a psychical possibility. If it were, he was disinclined to believe the goat would survive such an act.

-LoSF-

Clanking chains were the only sounds to be heard from her people. They'd grumbled to themselves the first few days, but by the fifth morning of their forced march under blistering heat with few stops and less meals than many were used to, most saved their words for the sense of privacy the large tent constructed each night to house the Hobbits gave them.

It pained Bilbo to be unable to ease the worry and tension rapidly growing in her people. The feeling constantly warred with the gnawing worry she felt for Prim's safety and condition.

She'd caught sight of her cousin towards the front of the line enough times to soothe some of the anxiety from her ever tracking eyes. Prim had been placed in a small carriage with two dams and a dwarf healer with the same guards marching at the wheels that guarded her personal tent at night.

Bilbo was thankful for that if nothing else. She'd been worried Prim would be forced to walk the whole way in her condition, but it seemed the Dwarrow had decided it would be best to keep the supposed Thain-Heir as safe as possible.

_And as far from me as possible while still making sure she stays within my sight_ , Bilbo thought with no small amount of bitterness.

The Dwarf with the bow who'd restrained her in the initial attack had approached her on the third morning of travel to inform her of Prim's location. She'd graced him with a particularly blank stare before turning and walking away.

He'd continued to trail after her, seemingly unconcerned by her lack of expression or response, and proceeded to natter on about what they were doing to keep the Thain-Heir safe.

If Bilbo hadn't been so pissed off about the situation she found her people in, she might have actually felt thankful for the Dwarf's dogged persistence in informing her of everything to do about her cousin's care by the Dwarrow. Instead, she only felt anger.

That anger rippled through her like a living thing when she used the words Bungo, sweet and loving Bungo who only ever wanted the best for her, ever so patiently taught her to wield with the same deadly provision as any blade to cut the archer down.

He'd faltered when faced with her fury, seemingly wary of the way she held herself as if to launch at him, before stepping aside with a surprised grunt when Flambard had rushed to stand between the two with a fierce glare upon his scarred face.

He'd berated the Dwarf with little care for the great difference in size and strength. He'd made certain to tell the Dwarf exactly how he felt about his stalking of a female Hobbit, one who just happened to be his chosen sister.

Bilbo had snagged his tunic and gently sent him to stay between their women and the tall Men who watched them far too closely. He'd gone with little fuss, but there was no mistaking the loaded look he'd tossed at the archer before stepping through huddle of still marching Hobbits.

The archer trailed her feet in bemused silence for the rest of the day, but she barely acknowledged him. Her focus remained on the safety of her kin. The Dwarf at her heels, though no doubt deadly when he had reason enough to be, was no threat to them. Merciless heat and leering Men, however, did not bode well for the health of her kin.

This still proved to be true two weeks later. Bilbo bit nervously at her lip while watching her kin grit their teeth against hunger and exhaustion. They had been traveling with the Dwarrow for seventeen days now, but it didn't appear as though they'd be stopping anytime soon.

Bilbo was worried some of her kin wouldn't make the journey. The heat did not hurt the Dwarrow the way it did her people. The race of stone were used to the melting flames of forge fire, but the kin she traveled with had grown up within the cool shade of stone cliffs and thick trees.

No, they did not have the same protection the Dwarrow had.

With each passing day, it seemed as though the Dwarrow did not know this.

Or they did not care.

“ _My Lady!_ ” The sudden cry of Hobbitish pulled Bilbo from tumbling thoughts. She snapped her head around, body turning even before the cry fully registered, and moved towards the distressed noise with quick paces.

The Hobbits babbled all at once in waves of concern and confusion, but parted for her even as they swarmed around a single point in an ever moving sea of limbs and chains to keep the suddenly halted Dwarrow and Men from seeing what caused such distress among the recently quiet Hobbits.

Bilbo, having finally reached the center of the group, rushed to kneel beside the two Hobbits hunched over on the ground taking gasping breaths. Buttercup Brandybuck and Periwinkle Baggins, both tweens on the caravan for the first time, clutched their chests with trembling hands. Both were flushed, dripping sweat, and leaning into each other for support.

A commotion started on the outside of the ring of Hobbits. Bilbo paid little mind to it as she quickly began working on cooling the tweens off. She rolled the travel skirts up carefully and knotted them further above shaking knees despite weak protests. Flowing curls were twisted back from overheated skin with nimble fingers to rest in a loose bun atop each of their heads.

Both sighed when the vests were ripped away and tossed to the Hobbits floating around them. Though they both flinched at the sudden tearing of fabric when Bilbo yanked the thick bell sleeves from the dress so that the material could be rolled neatly above the elbow, neither could find the energy to protest. The relief felt at the sudden heat and weight disappearing from their overtaxed bodies left them breathless.

“ _The Archer approaches._ ” Flambard's warning was met with a tense nod and thinned lips. The other Hobbits began chirping angrily at the tall Dwarf who gently pushed them aside to see what the problem was.

Bilbo felt his familiar presence at her back even as she continued ripping, rolling, and knotting fabric to get the tweens cool while keeping their modesty intact. She didn't even pause as she ripped her own skirts, not caring a whit if it was even or modest, and reached for the bulging waterskin Flambard held out towards her. She wet the fabric carefully to not waste a drop before gently washing the sweat and grime from blotchy skin. The remaining water was gladly received and shared shared between the two.

Slowly, ever so slowly, breathing began to ease and eyes began to clear. The vivid flush of fever hot skin fled as Bilbo continued her ministrations with low, soothing rumbles and gentle coos that kept the two lasses from falling into a panic.

She was well aware that others had converged at her back, but she'd not take her attention away from the young lasses until she was certain they were out of danger from heat sickness.

The two suddenly sagged forward in relief, both resting their damp foreheads against her solid shoulders with heavy sighs, while she tossed away the last of the wet cloth from their necks to begin quickly twisting thin strips of fabric behind their backs into hastily crafted but sturdy headbands.

“Easy,” Bilbo soothed with a rumbling coo deep within her chest. She'd been told many times the sound was very much like a comforting purr. She hoped the familiar noise brought them some peace.

Her fingers deftly fixed the newly made bands around the two bowed heads. The wide back would keep the curls from touching their necks. She tied the ends together and worked the fabric into a lovely flower to rest just in front of the center of each twisted bun. Even if each girl had to run full tilt over a hill, there was no way Bilbo's knots would ever fail.

Bungo had me sure of that.

“There now. Take it slow. You just had a dizzy spell is all. Take your time.”

The gentle assurances soothed the last of the tension from shoulders far too small to carry the weight of such a strenuous journey. Both tweens eased back from Bilbo with apologies on their tongues and the red bloom of embarrassment on their cheeks. Bilbo shook her head, grasping both necks in a gentle hold to pull the young ones back.

“None of that,” she reprimanded gently. A soft nuzzle against each of their noses in a Hobbit sign of affection chased away any lingering shame either might have felt. “You've both done well. You're not at fault for the foolishness of adults. I'm proud you've managed this far.”

They beamed at the earnest praise from one considered a local hero, grinning like the sweet tweens both of them were, before suddenly flinching after glancing behind her. They huddled closer together and turned wide eyes brimming with worry and tears up at her. She rumbled one last soothing sound at the two before standing.

Though the ragged tear of her skirt fell unevenly around her legs, Bilbo turned her head up at the Dwarrow at her back with the air of a queen in her best dress among disobedient servants. A baleful glare landed on them with the full weight of her rightfully earned ire. She cocked an unimpressed brow at the Golden Dwarf when he took a single step forward as if to address the cowering teens.

A rumble of a warning reverberated through her chest with all the ferocious instinct of a mother bear guarding her cubs. Bilbo took a single step forward into the Dwarf's path. She stopped, setting her stance wide enough to cover the tweens from Dwarven eyes, and snarled at the Dwarf when he shifted as if to step around her.

There was nothing gentle in her countenance. From the flashing eyes to balled fists, Bilbo was giving off every physical sign possible of the hell that would come if he moved in a way she didn't like.

Thankfully, the stone-headed Dwarf sensed the impending confrontation that would have come with flying fists and vengeful kicks if he so much as glanced at the tweens, because suddenly he centered himself in front of her and frowned.

“I do not wish to fight with you, Wild One. I'm only concerned for your kin.”

“Your concern is not wanted, Dwarf.” The seething rage beneath her tone seemed to surprise him, but Bilbo couldn't fathom why. It was his fault, after all, that the girls were suffering. Had he not chained them all to begin a mad dash across the open terrain in their rush towards the Misty Mountains, they'd be safe and nearly home.

“We only wish to help.” His tone was meant to be soothing, but Bilbo wasn't about to be swayed from her anger.

“Your kind have done more than enough.”

The Golden One tensed at the hissed words through snapping teeth. An odd mix of frustration and pain flashed through his eyes. The familiar glint of remembrance burned at the surface before fading into the back. Bilbo ground her teeth at seeing it. She'd caught the Dwarf glancing at her with a pained expression from some ill suppressed memory many times.

She didn't know what he thought he could remember when looking at her face, but it pissed her off. The bastard had taken enough from her. He wouldn't take her identity by comparing her to some ghost the brute harbored guilt towards.

“We do not wish any of you harm.”

“What you may wish to do, and what you have actually done, are vastly different.”

Bilbo's words drawled through the air with all the gentleness of a war hammer striking Elven glass. She turned her head away from the Golden One and the three Dwarrow – the Archer, Hatted Dwarf, and Young Dwarf – at his back to glance around the stopped company.

She caught sight of her target further ahead. Knowing what she must do, and hoping she didn't give her mixed heritage away in the process, Bilbo twisted around and strode to the girls.

The tweens squeaked but otherwise remained still as Bilbo dropped down to scoop one up in each arm. They curled tightly in her embrace. Each tossed an arm around her neck, mindful of their shackles, to grasp at the fabric pulled tight over hard shoulders. Sharp nails dug into the familiar muscle that carried them over jagged rocks and flowing rivers since they were but faunts. Their free arm came up and over to cross the others so that they may grasp at their own wrist for extra support in the unwavering hold.

Their legs, folded over and under the others, tangled in front of Bilbo's body in a bramble of fabric and thin limbs as she stood easily. The familiar weight of her kin nestled in her arms ebbed away some of the hissing anger she felt at the Dwarrow.

“Flambard.”

Her ever ready companion fell a step behind and to her left with a chittering affirmation in Hobbitish. Bilbo stepped forward, ignoring the stunned expression on the Golden Dwarf's face, and marched to walk the same path the Dwarrow had made to reach the center of the Hobbit circle.

Flambard growled low in his throat when the Hatted Dwarf reached suddenly as if to take one of the girls.

They both whimpered and clutched tightly to Bilbo. She set cold eyes on him without a word. The way he flinched and ducked back said she didn't need to speak in order to get her point across.

“Where are you going?” The Archer moved, as always, to trail her steps with the same dogged determination and single-minded focus that warmed her traitorous heart to the Dwarf.

“To tend to my kin.”

“We are more than capable of providing for them,” the Golden Dwarf grumbled. He'd stepped around the others to walk at her side despite Flambard's hissed warning.

“Oh. How rude of me. I only thought you'd be far too busy dictating over my people's current enslavement to offer any such assistance. Do not fret, Enslaver. You may get right back to leading your troupe of heathens to drag my gentle kin across rough lands without knowing or caring for what a Hobbit can and cannot handle. I'm sure I'll manage to keep my kin from dropping dead from your insane march while you rally your Men to force my people onward. We have, after all, taken up enough of your precious time. Don't want you to miss the deadline you must meet on account of our health or any other such pointless consideration. Prisoners aren't supposed to have a say of their cells and served time, after all.”

The words, spoken with all the icy censure of her father and burning temper of her mother, fell from her lips like arrows would an Elven bow, never missing their mark in their singular purpose of protecting kin and doing harm to those who'd challenge that intent.

The Golden One stumbled a single step at her side. He looked to her searchingly, but did not reply immediately. Bilbo waited until his mouth fell open to no doubt try and defend himself to release a quick burst of sound from between her own lips followed by another and another.

Men and Dwarrow jumped at the answering keen of an animal close to the front of the stopped march. A Dwarf with wild hair, one who had obviously been in charge of leading the ponies the Hobbits traveled with, came charging after the stampeding mount.

The beast was the largest of the ponies with a beautiful coat of storm gray. Thinner white hairs were peppered about the soft coat to give a silver shine under any light. The white and gray main, carefully braided and tied with woven leather bands and decorated with feathers and wooden beads, matched the tufts of thicker hair above sturdy hooves.

The mount was beautiful, and Bilbo's own. He came with her on the longer caravan routes while his mate, a gentle beast known as Myrtle, stayed in Mistfield to help with farming and allow the young ones to practice riding without fear of harm.

He charged directly at Bilbo with a happy whinny. The cheerful noise did not stop the Archer from rushing to the front of their little group. It would have been amusing to see the quickness in which he moved to guard them from her a pony, but it faded before it formed when strong arms bent towards the bow and arrows at his back.

“Shoot my mount, Master Archer, and I assure you not even your best Dwarven Healer will be able to remove those arrows from the place I have in mind to shove them.”

The Archer paused with a mild reproachful look softened by mirth. A snort, most likely from the Young Dwarf at her back, sounded barely a step behind her.

Periwinkle glanced over her shoulder at the snort and released a tiny squawk before ducking against Bilbo's neck with warmed cheeks.

Bilbo, surprised by her young kin's reaction, glanced back carefully to catch blue eyes bright with amusement over a grinning mouth watching her.

He ducked his head in apology when she cocked a single eyebrow at him. Annoyance shot through her, but she said nothing of the far too familiar action he'd taken to doing any time their eyes met. Her gaze turned forward once more, passing over the Golden Dwarf's incredulous stare between herself and the Dwarf at her back, and she stepped closer to the mount now prancing in place.

“Sorry, dearest. It's no time for a race. I have a job for you. Come here, handsome.”

The pony obediently stepped forward after a huff of annoyance, but stopped when the Dwarf who'd given chase to the mount tried to grab the reins tied loosely to the saddle on his back.

He nipped gently at the offending arm. The Dwarf, surprisingly and to Bilbo's great relief, did not try and strike him for the nibble. Instead, the Dwarf with hair very much like the pony's began grumbling at the mount in the Dwarven tongue. Some of the words didn't make sense to Bilbo, sounding of another Dwarven dialect she was unfamiliar with, but the tone was gentle and soothing.

“Not to worry, Master Dwarf. He is wild in manner, but a gentle soul. He means no harm.”

The Dwarf grunted and turned to her with a broad grin. The girls stiffened in her arms at the very frenzied, near manic, look about the much taller and bigger male. Bilbo didn't look at the wild hair, too wide grin, or jagged scar slitting across rough skin of his forehead, though. No, her eyes overlooked the weathered face to focus on the brown eyes that flashed with sorrow and acceptance when the tweens flinched and cowered from his presence.

“Ah, Bifur here means ye no harm,” the hatted Dwarf exclaimed while hurrying forward to stand by the now solemn looking Dwarf's side with a look of concern.

“I imagine not,” Bilbo snorted. She offered a warm smile towards the scarred Dwarf. Both Dwarrow, along with the Archer who still stood a few steps ahead, stared at her dumbly as she stepped forward with a reassuring murmur to the two frightened lasses. “My Handsome Prince would knock the heads from the shoulders of any Dwarf who dared to try.”

Though the words were meant to be light and reassuring for the sake of her nervous kin, the Archer went rigid at the softer tone. Then, reminding Bilbo of the death bleat of a wild mountain ram, wheezed and swiveled around far too quickly for Bilbo's questioning gaze to make sense of the strained expression. His shoulders were tense and twitching ever so lightly. The noises he made sounded oddly pained.

The hatted Dwarf didn't seem to be doing much better. He'd glanced behind her only to turn bright red with trembling lips. A snort from Flambard had her casting her confused stare to him, but he just shook his head and grinned impishly. Bilbo decided she truly didn't wish to know if her mischievous cousin found it entertaining.

“Your, erm, Prince?” The young Dwarf at her back sounded almost strangled.

Her eyes, along with those of the tween's, swirled to meet his. They all blinked at the bashful, somewhat embarrassed expression he was trying hard to hide. He was failing quite spectacularly, but Bilbo couldn't fathom why he felt the way he did to begin with.

“My mount,” Bilbo clarified with a touch of confusion coloring her tone. The sudden gasping noise from the Hatted Dwarf and Archer didn't help to ease it. “He's a bit willful, but truly means no harm. Though he prefers to play rather than work, I do not go anywhere without my dearest Prince.”

“Oh. I, well, see. Right.” The Dwarf coughed and avoided her gaze. He looked to Prince with a touch of uncertainty that had Bilbo bristling immediately. She had little doubt to what he was thinking. Dwarrow were known to train their mounts much more harshly than Hobbits. It had been something her father spoke of when he taught her to ride. Because of the differences, Dwarrow tended to think a pony that belonged to a Hobbit was not of good conditioning.

That, like dear Bungo proved time and time again, was wrong.

“I assure you that he's a grand companion to have on a long journey. Besides being useful in a pinch and a warm body to keep the chill away at night, Prince is the most skilled beast I've ever ridden, and I'll thank you not to judge him for having a Hobbit atop him rather than a Dwarf, Young One.”

The rebuke left the dwarf pink in the face and spluttering while the Dwarrow at her back near felled themselves with their own gut bursting laughter. Even the Golden One looked to be using every ounce of his strength and power of will to keep the mirth in his eyes from showing more physically.

Bilbo huffed and opened her mouth to defend her beast further when Flambard, grinning and chuckling as if he knew something she did not, stepped forward to gently rest his hand on the portion of shoulder he could reach with their kin wrapped around her.

“Peace, cousin. He is not meaning to insinuate your pony is of less worth than a Dwarven raised one.” Then, with a wicked grin holding not an ounce of mercy, Flambard turned to the youngest Dwarf of the group. “And Young One is not something Dwarrow are used to being called by Men or Hobbits. You are, after all, comfortably middle-aged for a Hobbit. One such as him is just overcoming tweenhood in comparison.”

Bilbo wasn't entirely certain of what her cousin meant to do with such a speech, but the Hatted Dwarf rushed to agree while repressing all signs of amusement. The Archer soon turned, face calm now after much effort, to offer another nod of agreement.

Scowling at their foolishness and muttering about the questionable intelligence of the Dwarrow about her, Bilbo heaved both girls up and onto the pony after shifting to make sure the chains wouldn't catch. The Golden One, who'd been watching her in tense silence since the pony began approaching, was towering over her, a mere few inches between them, at the sudden motion.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Caring for my kin.” Bilbo didn't bother to turn. Her hands moved rapidly about the girls to secure them more comfortably onto the patient mount. Prince happily bobbed his head at the loving scratches and sweet nothings the girls whispered to him in Hobbitish. “They are unable to walk further. This is the first time the tweens have traveled this far. They are unused to heat without drink, or labor without nourishment.”

He stayed silent for a moment, studying the girls on the pony with a hard scowl, before glaring back at her. “Hobbits sure have weakened over the last fifty years. The tween I knew could scale the mountainside without pausing for breath when they were but twenty-three. I doubt these lasses are much older. They can manage without a pony.”

Bilbo had frozen the second the dwarf began speaking as if he knew of what a Hobbit could and could not handle. It was only Flambard's quick fingers grasping frantically at the chain between her wrists and heaving them backwards into the now agitated pony that kept her from driving her fists into the bastard's nose.

The chain, only allowing for about two feet of separation between her wrists, did not have enough give with Flambard yanking them sideways towards his tensed frame to allow her to try and reach for a knife at the Dwarf's side, or break his jaw so that it would hopefully remain closed the remainder of their march.

Instead, she used the one blade they hadn't taken from her.

The one Bungo helped her to wield with the skill of a true master.

Her words.

“Do not presume to know our ways, Dwarf.” Eyes blazing and frame once more rippling with a tension that hadn't been there while holding her kin, Bilbo leaned into the Dwarf's space. “Near extinction forced changes upon my kin. These tweens, for that is what they are now, would not have been considered such in the time that Hobbits would have mistakenly called you friend.”

The last words got a visible reaction. Fury burned in place of where confusion and agitation had been just a moment before. He scowled down, face twisting into a snarl, and hissed right back, “Watch your mouth, Hobbit.”

“Oh? Too close to the truth? You spoke of a tween you once knew. One of twenty-three. He or she would be just into their seventies today. It's a respectable age that most reach. Old enough to have world experience, but young enough to still have the strength and cunning to march across Arda. Yet, I see no Hobbit at your side. None to defend you from my accusations. Hobbits do not turn on their kin, or abandon their friends. So, either you cast them out, or they died from putting their faith in you. That, Dwarf, had been their mistake.”

Ice could not have been colder. Bilbo's words aimed true to mercilessly strike at the wound she'd sensed in the Dwarf. He reacted, as expected, for one of his kind.

In rage.

The Archer had grabbed at the Golden One and dragged him several steps away with the help of the Hatted one before the fist he'd raised could strike her. The Archer whispered something harshly to him, but Bilbo had no sympathy for the Dwarf she glared down. Not when he looked to his hand as if it had betrayed him, and not when shame bled the anger out of him.

“My point has been made. A Dwarf's temper cannot be trusted. Kings of the past have proven this. As have you just now. And just like your fallen King of Dwarrow, you lack self-control. All those who follow you, those around us who take your actions as examples for how they are to behave, will not hesitate to act against my kin if you fail to even restrain yourself when faced with one mouthy Hobbit. To raise your hand against me, against the softer and smaller body of a Hobbit who is bound with no sword or shield to defend herself with, is to give all those under you permission to do the same.” With one last scathing look, Bilbo turned to face the pale lasses hunched in fear over Prince. Her ire only grew.

“The Dwarven King Thror sent out orders to imprison my people,” she began more softly, but no less coldly. “No Dwarf stood in defiance of this. An entire race of a weaker people would have been enslaved and eventually died out within the cold halls under rule of a cruel king not their own because not a single subject dared to question him. He existed to lead, not be questioned or criticized. Remember this when you act in the future. Your carelessness may very well cause harm to those you wish none towards.”

The Golden Dwarf said nothing as she went about soothing her stomping pony. She didn't need to look at his golden visage to know those blue eyes were boring into her skull.

“My kin will take my pony. The reins can be tied to a Hobbit, or the wagon where Thain-Heir is no doubt standing in attempt to see what madness your venture has done to our kin. It matters not to me, but they will be on this pony. That is final.”

“Alright,” the youngest Dwarf said, stepping between her and the other Dwarrow. Bilbo had predicted he would. She hadn't, however, thought he'd give her his back to instead face the older ones. For a Dwarf, it was a statement. One that said he trusted her not to cause harm more than those he faced. “We will do this her way.”

Bilbo said nothing to this.

But a small part of her, somewhere buried deep down under years of distance and loss, hummed in contentment in the same manner it had when Bungo came around to agree with her on matters other Hobbits disagreed with.

She recognized the feeling immediately.

Pride, fondness, and trust.

No, Bilbo said nothing to the Dwarf about his surprisingly bold declaration.

In fact, she'd rather never speak to him again.

She'd not allow him to become her mistake.

Not like _He_ had been for her mother.

She would never trust a Dwarf.

No matter how much she wanted to.


	4. FOUR

-LoSF-

The stomping of Dwarven boots and grumblings of Men had long since replaced the beautiful sound of his cousin's voice for his morning wake-up call ever since the caravan was attacked.

He would apologize for ever thinking Bilbo's soft trill annoying, if only to have it instead of the clattering racket he was now forced to endure every morning upon first waking.

Flambard sighed, stretching his arms after relieving himself in the woods with another group of Hobbits. Dwarrow took turns escorting them back and forth, while the few Dams among the camp escorted the women further away.

It had been one of many annoying adjustments to make, but he adapted quickly and followed Bilbo's lead. She had been the one to put her foot down and roar at the audacity of a few of the Men for trying to scamper off with the younger among their womenfolk so that they could relieve themselves.

It may have sounded innocent enough, but there had stood two small lasses and five leering Men.

Bilbo, for all her faults, was no fool.

Flambard had been ready and willing to jump into a brawl to cover her back, but the Archer stormed over and leveled such a damning glare at the Men a fight wasn't necessary.

They'd shot off further into camp, but the Archer stayed to hear Bilbo's report of what just happened.

Surprisingly, he'd listened to everything she said.

Minutes later four Dams, all warriors-maidens like Bilbo, were introduced. They'd been given the role of seeing to any of the women's more personal needs.

Bilbo had relented with a sniff Bungo, bless his kind soul, would be proud of.

He'd hid a grin.

Flambard knew he'd be lying if a small part of him wasn't relieved to see Bilbo accepting, though done painstakingly slow and with much hesitation, the help and companionship of a Dwarf.

He'd always wanted her to experience a bond with the other side of her heritage.

Even if the bond formed wasn't with the parent he knew to still be living in Erebor, he'd be grateful.

Because in the end, no matter how much he loved Bilbo, he was only a Hobbit.

And she was a Dwobbit.

He had, if he was lucky, another forty years of life.

Short of getting herself killed, Bilbo would live another two hundred fairly easily.

He would have to leave her behind.

Alone.

The way all the ones she loved did.

That was something he could not handle.

Even if it was just the Archer, or perhaps the Dwarf with the scar across his forehead, Flambard would be happy to face death knowing there was one person she could live her long years out beside.

It was the secret wish of all Hobbits.

None wished to see their beloved Thain-Heir, their Blessed Guard and Silver Dancer, mourning the passing of kin year after year from old age. Not while she still stood young and caught in the uncertain time between tween and womanhood.

Most wouldn't admit it, but Flambard was more honest than most.

Seeing the friendly Archer trailing Bilbo's feet in the spot he usually trotted was a warming sight.

Even if the reason for his presence wasn't.

“You seem troubled this morning, Master Hobbit.”

The voice set Flambard's lips twitching. He'd barely managed to suppress it before turning to look to the young Dwarf at his back. He shuffled nervously under his shrewd stare before seeming to realize it. Then, with as much confidence as the fellow could muster, he dragged his eyes back to Flambard's.

“None more so than usual.” Flambard quickly twisted his head aside to avoid laughing at the flinch. The poor Dwarf really did try to be friendly, but his hesitation made him an easy target to tease. His fascination with Bilbo, though understandable considering their similar ages, never ceased to amuse him. Especially since Bilbo was the most oblivious person when it came to recognizing someone's interest in her.

It wasn't her fault. Flambard was well aware of that.

She was, in comparison to a Hobbit, in the middle of tweenhood. She'd been forced to mature quickly in order to take on the role of guarding Mistfield and master her Gift. But certain things had to be experienced rather than taught, and no Hobbit dared to approach Bilbo, despite the fine figure she cut, with the offer of courtship or even a few stolen kisses behind the barn.

How could they? When they all knew she would still be considered a child by the time they were of marrying age? Any who did wish for more would be forced to wait to officially court and wed until she herself came of age.

No Hobbit wanted such heartache. And no Hobbit wanted to be named a grandfather while remembering the tumble they'd had with the Thain-Heir, who, by her own heritage and Thain's ruling, was a child until she reached seventy.

Flambard couldn't imagine anyone being able to reconcile the difference in aging and the possibility of something more than friendship.

And they all knew a Hobbit husband would pass long before Bilbo even wore a single wrinkle.

But a Dwarf husband, however, would be able to stand by her side in all things for the rest of her days.

It was a thought he, and many of his kin, had often.

And had become one he constantly entertained since catching the blonde Dwarf's eyes trailing his cousin's form the same way he'd once done with his wife.

Truly, Flambard wished the boy would stick around long enough to grow into his boots. He may actually have a chance, even if it is just friendship, with Bilbo if he'd just open his damn mouth.

Well, that and not being on the side enslaving them would be helpful.

But even that, just as Bilbo had whispered to him days before, seemed to be a farce.

Bilbo did not believe the Dwarrow were herding them to the mountain to enslave them.

She wasn't, however, willing to chance being wrong.

The Thain-Heir had already begun making her escape plan.

And what a plan did she have.

They still had miles of travel to go before Bilbo could act on it.

The Hobbits only needed to get over the mountains.

_Easier said than don_ e, Flambard thought, glancing around at his exhausted but determined kin. The tweens wore the bravest faces, but he did not need Yavanna's Gift of Spring to know they were suffering more than any other.

If it continued, he had no doubt beloved Bilbo would browbeat the Dwarrow into properly providing for the young ones.

He only wished she'd include herself in that for once.

“Master Hobbit?”

Flambard turned with a grin. He had missed what the Dwarf said, but only nodded his head towards where two ponies stood patiently with the Dwarrow he'd learned were Bofur and Bifur.

Decent fellows, but Flambard couldn't understand a word the scarred one said.

“If you are to be escorting me today, come along.”

He turned to his kin with a familiar order on his lips. Three lasses and a lad, the youngest of their group, rushed forward in response to the flowing Hobbitish.

Periwinkle and Buttercup had been allowed to ride Prince since Bilbo ordered it a week ago. The red-haired twins, Ardin and Zinnia Redwin, were given permission the very next morning when a stone-faced Bilbo carried them to a rather stricken looking Dwarf leader.

She'd plopped the bleary-eyed twins, precious children of only thirteen years who barely reached the Dwarf's belt, at his feet and stared him down with Baggins persistence and Took tenacity.

A pointed glance from the drooping duo, to the ponies, and back to him was enough to get her point across. Even if the Dwarf had wanted to argue, Zinnia's stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly. It had drawn the attention of nearby Dwarrow and Men.

The little lass had ducked low, whirling to clutch at Bilbo's tattered skirts, and whimpered pitifully about being tired and hungry. Ardin, the dear lad, rubbed her back and consoled her despite his own rumbling stomach and trembling knees.

Bilbo's look could have frozen the fires of Mordor.

The twins were up on a mount with a few sweet biscuits, hurriedly offered by a red-haired Dwarf who kept muttering about his own lad, within minutes of the heart-wrenching scene.

Flambard barely managed to keep his laughter from tumbling forth when Bilbo had the sheer stones to curtsy and recline her head regally at their Dwarf leader as if he were a servant she'd been pleasantly surprised into being pleased with.

He would have succeeded in his efforts, too, if not for catching the wide eyes and gaping mouth of the young Dwarf hopelessly staring after Bilbo's gliding form.

Flambard wasn't sure if it had been the defiant action or the way she sashayed away that left the Dwarf momentarily brainless, but he was willing to bet it was a mix of the two.

“Thank you,” Zinnia said cheerfully as Bifur hoisted her up onto Apple, the calmest pony in the Hobbit caravan, with a rumble of affection. Flambard wondered if it had been the sound, so very much like the gentle croon Bilbo used to soothe away all hurts and fears, that softened the twins to the Dwarf.

Ardin followed his sister up quickly while the older tweens were lifted onto Prince by Bofur. They still looked apologetic at being allowed to ride while others were forced to walk, but Flambard gave them a reassuring smile.

He had no doubt Bilbo would be doing something to get the all the tweens better accommodations soon. Her instincts wouldn't settle until the young were cared for properly.

“Alright. Settle down. Off we trot.”

Flambard started forward with the ponies and Dwarrow. It had been agreed upon that Bilbo should stay with the larger portion of Hobbits, while Flambard spent the day further up the line, just behind the carriage holding Primula, watching over the tweens. He was escorted to the position every morning by the three Dwarrow, but then left in the care of only the hatted one as the other two rushed off to attend other duties before the match began once again.

He'd accepted the duty a week ago and had fell into an unchanging routine.

At least, it had been unchanging.

The stern faced leader of the march stomping his way to him a few hours later certainly wasn't usual.

Flambard said nothing as the Dwarf fell in step beside him, but made certain to keep him in view. Primula had turned around with a dark scowl and huff before being forced to face forward by one of the Dams riding with her, so he figured she had something to do with the cankerous Dwarf now stomping at his side.

Another hour slowly bled on by in silence.

Well, in silence from the Dwarf.

The tweens had calmed after a few minutes of his approach. Flambard admired their fortitude, but cheered inwardly as any mischief Took would when the twins began muttering forlornly about missing Bilbo, or rather Captain, as they had all began calling her to keep her identity secret, and wondering if she'd be going to catch some fish or find them some berries soon. After all, they were terribly hungry.

The Dwarf twitched at every innocent question.

They continued such speculation until Zinnia drooped low with a rough cough. Flambard handed over the wetskin Bilbo insisted he begin to carry for the tweens before the fit ended.

She accepted it gratefully, and then apologized for all the trouble.

“No worries, dear. Our beloved Captain has handed this over to keep you young ones hydrated.”

“Yes, but what about her? She's already giving her pro-erm...”

“Provisions, sis,” Ardin, ever the faithful brother, said gently.

“Right. She has already given up most of her share of daily provisions. She even gave you her wetskin for us. And she only takes sips when she does have one.”

Flambard could practically feel the sudden intensity of the Dwarf at his side staring at the back of his head. It seemed nobody had noticed her doing so, then.

“Yes, but she's the Head Guard of the Caravan. Captain of those like me. She's used to going on less, Zinnia. Do not worry.”

“But it's not fair,” Ardin whispered into his sister's sullen silence.

“You need the nourishment.” Flambard wished to give a more soothing reply, but there was so little he could say. “Trust me. My cousin will be fine. She'd not be able to eat or drink if she thought any of you were going without, anyways. Just accept her care. It lifts her worries.”

The twins nodded dutifully and fell into a game of guessing shapes in the tree leaves. The hatted Dwarf joined in after some goading, but the leader did not respond to their gentle prodding. Instead, he turned his full attention to Flambard.

He dearly wished he wouldn't.

“Wild One hasn't been eating her share.”

Flambard shrugged. It had been a statement, so there was no need to answer.

“We are able to provide the younger ones with more food. She does not need to go without.”

The Dwarf sounded oddly agitated. He usually did when it came to his cousin, but Flambard did not think it was out of true anger. Flambard knew better than anyone what a man searching for a ghost looked like. Their leader saw another in Bilbo's face. Someone he'd failed. Someone he had once loved.

Flambard knew all about that.

“Is that so?” The sudden memories of his own made his voice shorter than it would have been, but there was nothing for it now. “How exactly are you to provide more? We Hobbits only carry so much food with us. Our Captain fills our food wagon, that being the one towards the front the large Dwarf with fire bright hair has been seeing to, as we travel. You have not brought enough to provide for us. I've heard Men complain of having to cut back in order to provide an equal share. They've made some colorful suggestions on just how we could earn them.”

There was nothing kind about the smile Flambard gave the Dwarf. By the dark look twisting his features, it seemed as though the Dwarf understood his meaning well enough.

“None are permitted to ask anything of your kin.”

“I believe you,” Flambard said simply. “But it matters not what I think. If they make the suggestion around my cousin, you will have less mouths to feed. Such a vile threat to our tweens and womenfolk will be met with her fury.”

“Yes. I've noticed how protective she is.”

Flambard snorted, but didn't comment on the matter. He could spend an entire month telling stories on Bilbo's over-protective tendencies and still have more to say.

“So,” Flambard, taking care to lower his voice so that his kin could not hear, met the Dwarf's gaze with a carefully neutral expression, “why is His Highness here beside me instead of leading his little army?”

The reaction was instant.

The Dwarf flinched back, shock rippling through him like a physical strike. It showed on his face a moment, but it was quickly hidden away by the same stone-faced wall worn by Bilbo during any political meeting. The eyes, though, were harder to get back under control. They burned with suspicion and anger a few beats longer before they too dimmed until no emotion remained.

“Highness?” His voice was rough and low with warning, but Flambard wasn't deterred. You did not become close to Bilbo without being able to withstand a storm of royal proportions.

“Is that not the proper term? You are the second son of King Thráin II, older brother to Princess Dís, and younger brother of Prince Thorin II. Hobbits do not care for titles overly much. Perhaps Majesty is proper? I was told, for Dwarrow, King and Majesty were different titles. Has that changed?”

“You know who I am. Know that I am a Durin.”

“Yes. The Archer, too.” Flambard could understand some surprise at his knowledge, but the undertone of rage snapping behind the soft words was not expected.

“Who among my kin has told you this?”

Flambard couldn't help but stiffen at the fury suddenly directed his way. He'd been curious as to why the only Dwarrow to introduce themselves had been Bofur and Bifur, which had been done only for the sake of the tweens comfort, but now it was looking as though their leader had ordered it.

“No one.”

“You need not lie to protect–”

“I need not lie. That is the short of it. I have no reason to.” Flambard set a reproachful look at the Dwarven Prince for insinuating otherwise.

“There is no other way–”

“You forget, Master Dwarf, I am older than even my Captain. I have toddled about the Halls of Erebor while clinging to my mother's skirts, bartered with Dwarrow at my father's knee during morning market, and laid eyes upon the royal family. I have my suspicions that the besotted lad mooning over my dear cousin is the blonde babe I once spotted during the Yule Fair before my kin fled. If so, he is the son of Princess Dís and the Archer. Never did learn that Dwarf's name. Da only ever called him General, you see. The babe I saw with the royal couple would be sixty, if not a few years older, now. I'm no expert, but I'd say he is the right age. He certainly has the Durin look about him. You lot all have the same blue eyes, and he shares coloring and styling with you.”

The stifling anger dispersed as Flambard spoke, but it was clear a cold suspicion remained.

“Why have you not spoken of this?”

“It would do no good. The only one who would care, is the one I do not wish to tell.”

The golden-haired Dwarf fell silent. It was a heavy thing that pressed down on Flambard, but he shouldered the sullen temperament of his walking companion and marched on.

He had, after all, withstood Bilbo during her every storm.

The Dwarf was but a drizzle in comparison.

“Why do you not speak to the Wild One of my identity?”

“She'd kill you.” Flambard's perfectly blunt answer earned a scowl. “My cousin, despite how prickly she may seem right now, does not hold every Dwarf accountable for your grandfather's actions. She is doing what she must to keep our kin safe, so it may appear opposite of what I say. In truth, had you approached on the road, she would have treated you no differently than any other stranger. But you've chained us together. You've caused physical harm to my person. She will see the actions of your grandfather reflected in you. As of now, seeing as she doesn't know of your heritage, she sees you as a Dwarf soldier following the orders of the crown. I have no doubt my cousin would return you to Mahal's Halls if she were to learn your name before you've managed to prove yourself different than your grandfather.”

Blue eyes darkened in doubt. “You speak as though your cousin believes we have gathered Hobbits for reasons not like my grandfather.”

Flambard shrugged once more and fell silent. He'd not be discussing Bilbo's thoughts with the Dwarf any further. If he wished to know why she felt the Dwarrow were not hunting them for the same reasons the King had done so fifty years ago, then he needed to ask her.

“You speak,” the Dwarf began slowly, almost hesitantly, “as if she would accept a Dwarf's offer of apology. An offer of...friendship.”

Flambard resolutely ignored the very slight pause, and dearly hoped the Dwarf had been thinking of the younger blonde prince when he had done so. If he'd been thinking or pursuing his cousin himself, well, it was best not to think of the type of ruin it would bring.

“I ask you again, Master Dwarf,” he began instead. Because he was in no way whatsoever going to touch that subject. Not yet. Not when Bilbo was fit to throttle every Dwarf in sight who overstepped. Minus Bifur, who she'd immediately felt endeared towards, of course. “Why are you here? Did our Thain-Heir run you off? She looks more murderous than usual.”

A snort came in response at his less than subtle way of changing the direction of their conversation. Still, the Dwarf followed the turn willingly enough.

Small mercy that.

“She has insisted I speak to the Wild One in regards to our route, extra meals for your kin, and accommodations for the younger Hobbits. She's been particularly vocal within my vicinity on the matter.”

Flambard grinned at that. “By your wording, I take it to mean the Thain-Heir is speaking her mind freely around you, but not actually saying anything to you.”

The Dwarf's scowl was answer enough.

Flambard bit down a laugh. He understood. The sheer level of pettiness Prim was capable of when angered could make an Elf fit for a tantrum. The mountain sized proportions of frustration she heaped on the guilty party in mere minutes of being riled was nothing to sniff at. If she'd been focusing all her efforts on strong-arming the Dwarf into doing what she wanted, it was no wonder he'd approached earlier looking as though all of Arda was set against him.

Prim, in her own way, was just as formidable as Bilbo.

“And you've decided to test the waters with the the Captain's Second.” Flambard's tone, thick with amusement, did nothing to lighten the heavy scowl. “Good strategy, but not necessary. She will hear you out.”

“I had thought, of all the Hobbits with us, you would not wish me near her. You're quick to get between her and the other Dwarrow who approach.”

Flambard nodded. He could see how an outsider would think that, but it wasn't truly what he was doing.

He was not keeping curious Dwarrow from her.

He was keeping a wrathful Bilbo from the Dwarrow.

At the start, it had been truly necessary. With his cousin coiled with tension and barely restrained violence, it was best not to let anyone too near.

He kept to his plan of bodily blocking any Dwarf from getting too close until she herself told the Hobbits to stop plotting retribution for the young Dwarf's actions when shackling her.

As the Dwarf was not of age, was ignorant of Hobbit ways, and was only following orders, she would not hold him accountable for what any other Hobbit would consider assault.

It had taken an entire night of arguing, but the others relented with her continued insistence.

It was the stubborn set of her shoulders as she proclaimed again and again the Dwarf's innocence that let Flambard know his cousin was finally calm enough to not look at every Dwarf who approached as if they were an immediate threat.

She still wouldn't allow any near their kin, but Flambard couldn't fault her that.

He himself, though more than willing to have a conversation with any Dwarf, was not willing to trust any of them with the other Hobbits.

Bilbo was different.

She was always different.

“If you truly need answers, our Captain can provide them.”

“But not you?” Agitation and suspicion clung to the edges of that rough tone.

“No, not me.” Flambard cut his eyes to the Dwarf, grin a little too wide to be considered kind. “But I will be watching.”

“There–”

“Tonight, Master Dwarf. Speak with her. If you do not, I will make certain another chance does not occur.”

Though the Dwarf growled under his breath while his eyes burned with contained anger, he did not say he would be speaking with Bilbo.

_But_ , Flambard was quick to note, eyes trailing the Dwarf as he stomped away, _he did not say he wouldn't, either_.

And so Flambard went about the day, doing his best to help his kin and show no signs of distress under the increasing heat, with every other thought dedicated to forming an argument that would calm Bilbo down enough to hear the Dwarf out without beginning a fight halfway through.

With as many hours as he had to think on it, the conversation should have gone well.

He wasn't surprised when it didn't.

Still, once the Hobbits were settled safely in the tent and resting comfortably, or as comfortably as any could be while shackled and near starved and dehydrated, he and Bilbo found themselves just outside the entrance.

Their assigned guards, two Dwarrow with long black beards streaked with white, seemed hesitant of their sudden presence, but calmed when neither stepped further out.

They all stood in silence while the sun's brilliance dimmed to allow the stars' radiance to shine.

The sky was nearly a blanket of black when two Dwarrow started toward them.

Flambard was not surprised to see the Archer beside the Dwarf leader, but it did throw him off balance when the Dwarf stepped around his cousin to stand at her back.

“I figure I'll stand in your place for a bit,” the Archer said in way of explanation. “Go ahead. I'll not move until you return.”

Bilbo, tense and clearly warring with herself, only dipped her head a fraction in acknowledgment before bringing the full weight of her gaze to his.

“If you have need of me, call. I will not go far.”

Flambard could only nod and watch with no little amount of amusement as the leader of the small army pulled his courage tight around him to meet Bilbo's unwavering stare.

Again, Flambard couldn't blame him.

Dragons were less intimidating than his cousin.

Still, the Dwarf was willing to try. He had hope the two would be able to speak without waking the entire caravan and every foul thing living in the woods.

“I would speak with you, Halfling.”

Bilbo's expression sharpened into something cold and cutting.

Flambard sighed despondently.

There went that hope.


	5. FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope everyone enjoys the story. Pleasure to have you drop in. I'm still learning my way with the site, but do hope you will point out any mistakes I've made. It's most helpful and truly appreciated.
> 
> For a preview of the next Chapter, check End Notes.
> 
> Warm wishes to you!

-LoSF-

When Dwarrow are but pebbles with whiskers on their cheeks and the blaze of their Maker's forges just beginning to burn in their eyes, they are sent into a room where many Masters of their Crafts are stationed and waiting with examples of their work.

It is there, surrounded by the heart of Dwarven culture, many pebbles first feel the pull of their craft. Drawn by the creations of artful Masters, each young Dwarf will feel the Spark of Mahal in their hearts when their soul recognizes the Call.

Frerin still remembers going into that room when he finally reached twenty. He'd wondered if he'd be drawn to the works of the Master Blacksmith like Thorin, or Silversmith like his father.

In the end, it was neither.

For his heart thumped to the beat of ancient drums, and blazed with a fierce _need_ to _do_ when his eyes befell the Master of War.

Mahal had used the Craft of Battle as the Spark to begin his creation.

Frerin responded to the Call chosen for him without fear.

It was not until he officially began training the following month that any sort of hesitation began to form in him.

No one could blame him, though. Not when his teacher stepped forward to name him apprentice.

War Master and Battle Tactician, General of the King's Division, Fundin Deathsmith.

Frerin had never been so nervous in all his life, standing there under the gleaming gray of his cousin's eyes.

It was there, on the training field surrounded by recruits just as new as himself, that he finally understood why Fundin earned the name Deathsmith.

The eyes.

Though he made war a form of art, his grace in wielding death becoming a hauntingly beautiful scene to witness, the eyes earned him the name.

To look into Fundin's eyes when performing his craft was to watch the executioner's blade fall upon you.

Without moving, without even reaching for a weapon, he crafted your death within his gaze.

It had been terrifying the first time Frerin noticed.

It had never stopped being so.

Frerin thought he would never again feel the premonition of his death, crafted within gray eyes that gleamed like cold metal, with the passing of Fundin decades before.

But he'd been wrong.

Because the Hobbit with silver eyes had the same sharp gleam.

They glinted in the moonlight like an assassin's blade.

Steady.

Cold.

Deadly.

Just like with Fundin, those eyes wielded death.

And just like with his old teacher and cousin, her gaze sent a shock of fear through his system. The ghost sensation of a wound that did not, _would not_ , pierce his skin was felt all the same.

It was all he could do not to flinch away from a blade at his throat that did not exist.

Luckily, Fundin had given him over a century of practice before he'd been called to Mahal's Halls.

“I am half of nothing, Dwarf. Best you remember it before you find yourself half your height.” The heat in the tone could melt steel, but Frerin would not let his own anger be flamed by hers.

He'd made that mistake once.

The shame of raising his hand against her, to ready himself to fight on the behalf of one who no longer stood by him, still turned his stomach.

He shouldn't have let his temper get the best of him as he had, but he would not be apologizing for it.

Wild One should not have spoken to him in such a way.

He had warned her to be silent.

She chose to continue.

He only acted accordingly to such blatant defiance and disrespect.

And though Frerin told himself he had every right to raise fist, voice, and blade against any slander thrown at someone who he so dearly cherished, he knew he had not moved for such a reason.

Frerin had to accept that the lass spoke true.

Trusting him had been her downfall.

Had been her mistake.

That was the true source of his anger.

It had not been a burning need to defend the person he'd stood beside so faithfully for years.

No.

Shame and guilt raised his hand.

He did not want to _hear_ of his failures.

He did not want to acknowledge the cold truth he dared only think of in the safety of darkness and isolation.

If he did, he had to accept his part in what happened that night fifty years ago.

The tears. The blood. The d–

_No_.

He could not think of it.

It would break him.

And a Dwarven Prince did not break.

He _endured_.

So, with the very emotion he'd been taught to ignore as a child, Frerin moved to _stop_ her from speaking. The method mattered little.

Frerin _needed_ her to stop talking.

Because another word, another bladed truth falling harshly from snarling lips set upon a face painfully reminiscent of one he'd have gladly followed into the fires of Mordor, would have broken him.

But a Prince of Durin was not allowed to break.

So, he acted.

It had been a mistake.

But he would not admit it.

He would not apologize for it.

Just as he wouldn't do so now.

“Perhaps. Still, I would speak with you, Wild One.”

Frerin forced his eyes to remain locked on her face. Memorizing it with a focus he only applied when overseeing the ever changing maps at a war table. He needed to note the differences between the two women. He needed to stop seeing _her_ every time his eyes landed on the silver-eyed spitfire.

It was easier said than done when even her cutting words echoed with the sharp edge of another voice.

“If you truly must, I will withstand such an unfortunate encounter.” Víli snorted as the lass stepped forward into Frerin's space. She stood calmly mere inches from him despite the clearly visible weapons and even more visible difference in size. “Though I do not have all night,” she added when Frerin hadn't replied after several moments.

Unable to dislodge the stone choking the words in his throat, Frerin simply nodded and turned to move further away. He wasn't fool enough to take her far from her kin, or move out of her cousin's sight, but he did move them further away.

“Sit.” He gestured to a standing barrel in front of an empty wagon. Frerin stared her down, frowning in thought as he wondered at her refusing him even in this, when she huffed in agitation and sat down in a manner that reminded him all too keenly of Dís when having to deal with persistent Dwarven Lords.

Calling upon every lesson in diplomacy poor Balin did his best to beat into a thick Durin skull, Frerin carefully sat down on a wooden crate a few feet from her perch.

“Your cousin has requested I speak with you,” Frerin began neutrally.

Where he thought his words may bring confusion or curiosity, perhaps even worry, they instead brought forth a flicker of amusement. Wild One's scowling features relaxed into a rather sardonic expression. The curve of brow and lips were decidedly smug.

“She _requests_ nothing, Dwarf. It is not in her nature. She ordered, or threatened. From the more than hostile expressions Thain-Heir has thrown at your back as of late, I'd bet she has given an order with a consequence being held if not followed.”

Frerin grimaced. “Ah. You know her well.”

“We are cousins. I am her guard. It is my duty to know her.” She cocked her head to the side, grinning all the while. “Well? What has she sent you my way for?”

“The Mountain Passes,” he began, noting how silver eyes instantly narrowed in understanding. The lass was quick. Almost as quick as Balin. She certainly shared the same sharpness of tongue and wit with his elder cousin.

“She's sent you to ask me of a safe route. You do not know the way.”

“I can find a path fine, Hobbit.” Though he leveled her with an expression of challenge, one that sent Dwarrow Lords and Elf Dignitaries backing away in submission, Wild One met his gaze with a truly astonishing amount of mocking disbelief.

“Hmm. Yes. I'm certain a Dwarf, one who most likely hasn't left the safety of his mountain in fifty years, knows the changes made of treacherous stone paths.”

Frerin bristled before he could stop himself from reacting. “Even if I haven't crossed this way in decades, some of the Dwarrow here could have very well provided me with details of their own travels.”

“Yes, but they haven't. Which means no one has made such trips across the Misty Mountains in many years. Unlike us Hobbits.” Though she looked entirely too smug in saying so, Frerin caught a flash of concern before it was carefully tucked away behind gleaming eyes. “So, you need me to show you the safest route.”

Frerin remained still, but internally he recoiled at the mere thought of following the path of a Hobbit ever again. Now was not the time to think of the past. He needed to focus on the present.

“It would be beneficial to the safety of your kin to follow a familiar path,” he said instead of agreeing.

“For your soldiers, too.” She shrugged, seemingly not caring if his Dwarrow were harmed or not. “All paths hold danger, but there are few that at least do not offer danger from the path itself.”

He thought over her words for a moment, frowning when the meaning came. “Some of the paths are unstable. Some hold strong. All hold dangers of Orc and Goblin attacks.”

She grinned, but it wasn't kind. More like a predator amused by a willful prey's attempt at escape. “Correct. Show me the maps tomorrow before the camp beds down for the night. Though I have no wish to offer you aide, I will not allow you to drag by kin into further danger. They suffer enough under your orders.”

Frerin bit down the immediate response he'd gotten far too used to saying to Thain-Heir. He knew more now than he did when speaking with that insufferable Hobbit woman. The young Hobbits Flambard walked beside made it clear the Hobbit Guard was the one responsible for gathering enough food to feed the whole caravan. And though he originally thought their Thain-Heir was throwing around words like starvation to agitate him further, those children had no such reason to.

Their innocent words and rumbling stomachs echoed through his mind. Frerin recalled their claim that Wild One was refusing meals to allow the younger ones to have more. He'd asked Víli about it, but the Dwarf wasn't sure. The Hobbits ate before he reached them in the morning, and she was already up and guarding those who still rested long before he appeared.

But looking at her, _really_ looking at her, Frerin could tell she was thinner than most Hobbits. The dress, tattered as it was after ripping the skirt to aide her kin, offered little in way of protection. It was a little loose around her stomach, but he recalled it being comfortably snug before.

Thinking on it, most of the Hobbits looked to have thinned a bit.

But none more than their beloved Guard.

Who appeared to protect them even against starvation.

A starvation he was causing.

The guilt of letting such a gentle people, _her_ people, down once more left him stricken.

“Your Thain-Heir seems to think we are starving her people,” he said slowly, almost coldly in his attempt to force down and bury the turbulent emotions wanting to break free to _demand_ the Hobbit before him to tell him news of the one he'd last seen fifty years ago.

_Had his actions starved her as well?_

“You are.” Wild One's soft voice, blistering with ire and burning with condemnation, roared through his ears to deafen all other thoughts. It drove back memories of the past with the ironclad grasp it held to the present. “They are starving. Malnourished and dehydrated in some cases. Many will faint from related problems within a week if the heat holds.”

Frerin nearly slipped from the box in surprise. “It is so dire?”

The slow rise of her left brow as it arched severely in disbelief reminded him so fiercely of Dwalin that he saw those familiar gray eyes in place of silver for a moment. The humorless quirk, a barely there pinch at the right edge of thinned lips, did nothing to rid of the image.

With the expression upon her face and smoke from nearby campfire floating around her, Frerin could almost see his cousin's outline in the blurring vapors between them. Dwalin's massive frame swallowing that of a too thin Hobbit.

“It is.” The tone, far too soft and flowing to be Dwalin's tumbling drawl, banished the looming image in the same breath it came. “My people are unused to heat after fleeing your mountain. We've stayed hidden in shadows these last fifty years. Though seven meals are no longer recognized as the standard for Hobbits, my kin still need at least three full meals a day with snacks in between. A Hobbit's metabolism is too great to get by with less for long. The meal we get with the rising and setting sun are not enough. You've more than cut their intake by half, but have tripled the workload.”

“Surely not,” Frerin rumbled, scowling all the while. It was more of an immediate expression to fall back on when in thought, learned over decades in facing down Dwarrow in court to not give away anything, but the glare he earned in return spoke clearly on how the lass perceived it.

“You're dragging Hobbits across unfamiliar terrain, _open_ terrain at that, in blistering heat. They're climbing hills and rocky paths at a merciless pace without any source of relief until sundown. For all you like to say Hobbits are weaker in body, you forget that difference in constitution when it suits you.”

This time, the scowl was directed fully at her. “I do not.” He had, in truth, forgotten that not all Hobbits do well in extreme heat. Even when they worked the land outside of Erebor in such conditions, they'd had cool water at hand and hats to protect their heads, back, and shoulders. None had such protection this time, and the summer heat was only getting worse with every passing day. “Hobbits used to–”

“ _Used to_ is not _now_ , Dwarf,” she snapped, barring her teeth like a wolf ready to lunge. “Do not think everything is the same as fifty years ago. Hobbits have adapted as needed. We've spent these decades in the protection of cold shadows rather than the open view of warm sun upon open fields. Of the two of us, _I_ am the one who knows what a Hobbit can endure. Not you.”

Her words were more painful than a physical blow. It reminded him suddenly of the many nights he spent staring out into the darkness surrounding Erebor in uncertainty. He had done so, as he now did again, due to lack of any knowledge on what a Hobbit could handle in the elements. Thoughts of freezing to death, starvation, and collapsing of exhaustion had haunted him then. Now, with the weight of blunt and true words pressing down upon him, the worry of all those nights surged forward to grip icy fingers around his heart.

“What would you suggest for your kin?” His voice didn't tremble, but it was a close thing.

“Discounting myself, there are forty Hobbits. You have Thain-Heir under personal care. Twelve of the remaining are under twenty. They should all be put on a wagon,” she began, a frown pinching her brow as she thought. “A few paces behind Thain-Heir's designated wagon is a Hobbit made one. The seats of the two benches are able to be lifted for extra storage. Inside are the poles and canvas needed to make a roof. It will help the young ones to conserve their energy, and prevent them from overheating.”

Frerin nodded. “I'll have it done.” He didn't have to think on it. Hearing how young some of the Hobbits were was surprising. Fifty years ago, a Hobbit wasn't even allowed to travel to Erebor without a family escort if they were under twenty. Dale was out of the question until a Hobbit reached thirty.

“I'll assign three Hobbit women to ride with them. The wagon is designed to hold fifteen fully grown Hobbits. Twelve children and three adults won't slow down the ponies even with a Dwarf at the front. Flambard and another veteran of the caravan will stay by the wagon to keep watch over the more vulnerable of our kin. I'll not have my little ones away from me without some protection and comfort.”

Frerin knew better than to argue this point. A Dam would demand no less if it were her own pebbles, so he could not ask a Hobbit to do what a Dam would not.

“Aye. I'll have Bofur and Bifur assigned to the wagon. The others?”

“Well, there are twenty-two Hobbits left to care for. Of those, six are caravan veterans. Meaning they've traveled with me at least ten years. The remaining sixteen have at least three years, but not more than six. I'd put them all on wagons, but your group destroyed most of them when you ambushed us.”

It was true, but he didn't want to admit it. The decision had been hard to make, but taking all the wagons would have slowed them down. It was Nori who suggested putting all found travel packs on one wagon, useful finds on another, and taking along the food wagon. Víli argued taking at least three extra, but in the end they'd only taken four of the Hobbit wagons.

The fourth being the largest wagon the Hobbits had.

The others had been quickly broken apart and piled to the side as they'd been emptied.

Víli hadn't been happy about the destruction of personal property, but taking all the wagons wasn't wise.

Now, however, Frerin wished he'd taken at least one extra.

“And the ponies aren't an option.” She didn't say it was because he wouldn't allow it, but the loaded look spoke of it well enough. “Only option is to use what we have.”

“Which would be?”

“Four Hobbit wagons and twenty-two Hobbits in need of occasional rest.”

He tried not to, but Frerin was unable to stop the annoyed scowl from twisting his features at the look of astonished agitation on the round face. The expression clearly stating Wild One questioned his intelligence.

“The numbers clearly show–”

“One of the wagons is packed with Hobbits. Another with packs, a third with items you Dwarrow thought we'd either need or want to keep, and the last with food. Now, the remaining Hobbits do not need to sit the entire time. They do, however, need to break more often than you allow. The wagons will suffice.”

Frerin wanted to point out the flaws he saw in such a plan, but she plowed right on without looking his way.

“Each wagon is driven by a Dwarf, but there is space for two handlers. A Hobbit can sit beside each Dwarf. The six veterans will refuse to rest, so they will do the same job as Flambard at the other wagons. Two veterans per wagon will be plenty. If something does happen, they're experienced enough to sound the alarm immediately. The remaining twelve can be split between the last three wagons. Four per wagon. Just undo the two latches at the end of each wagon to drop that panel for extra seating. They can climb on up and rest when needed. The canvas tops will provide shade when the heat gets to be too much.”

She cut a quelling look his way when he began to protest. “You have taken all sixteen Hobbit ponies, but only four wagons. Rotate out the ponies to keep them from suffering the heat. Eight pulling and eight trailing at all times.”

Frerin stared. He couldn't help it. Though they all knew every function each wagon offered, none thought to suggest using them. Truly, it hadn't occurred to anyone the Hobbits were suffering from the heat or long trek. Hunger was always a concern, but never the other two.

At least not until the two lasses collapsed.

It was widely thought their younger age and inexperience were to blame, but Thain-Heir made sure any Dwarf within earshot of her tent knew otherwise by the end of that night.

She'd spent a good hour loudly talking to herself on the matter. No amount of effort on Frerin's part could get her to answer any of his questions, so he'd no choice but to seek help from Flambard.

He'd hoped the lad would be willing to speak with him to help his kin.

He'd not expected Flambard to twist the situation around so that there was no choice but to talk to Wild One.

And though Frerin had believed she'd only try to make things difficult for him and his Dwarrow, he was pleasantly surprised to hear all her solutions were easy enough to do _without_ inconveniencing anyone.

Even better, the Hobbit Guard was willing to go over routes on a map.

He wanted to thank her, but couldn't help but to pause. There was still one more matter needing to be addressed before he returned Wild One to her tent.

Rations.

Frerin knew what he needed to ask, but his pride smothered the words. The Guard already gave solutions to heat sickness and exhaustion, so he was certain she'd have a solution to this last issue.

But he didn't wish to ask her.

How could he?

Frerin was well aware the Hobbits were starving because of his error in underestimating the amount of food they'd need for the Hobbits. He could not ask a Hobbit to be the one to fix his mess. To be the provider for the very ones who captured you.

No Dwarf would ask that.

But he needed to.

Though, mercifully, it seemed he didn't have to.

“That fixes the issue of heat and travel exhaustion, but not the lack of food,” Wild One began suddenly, crossing deceptively strong arms at her chest and thin legs at the ankles with a deep frown. A look of deep thought set into the lines of her face, and one of mithril strong stubbornness shone in her shadowed eyes. “I'll hunt.”

“Out of the question.” The words were out before her words even sank in. She looked entirely unimpressed, but Frerin wasn't backing down. “I'm not releasing you to go looking for small game and berries. I'll end up with more wounded soldiers than meals.”

Wild One snorted, cocking an eyebrow as she did so. “I'd stab them regardless of shackles, Dwarf.”

She wasn't wrong, but it was still a large risk. She could easily run.

“I wouldn't run,” she said as if hearing his thoughts. “My kin are here. Besides, I didn't say I needed unbound and let loose to wander the wilds. I'll stay around the edges of the caravan when hunting. I'm certain that Archer of yours will be right behind me no matter what I say, anyways.”

Again, the lass wasn't wrong. Víli had taken to trailing her steps in the same way he'd done the boys when they were years younger. The watchful, overprotective parent had relentlessly trailed clumsy steps for years until the boys could hold their own.

Now, for some strange reason, Víli's fatherly instincts had surged forward into that same constant blaze of devotion and protection that burned steadfast for his sons for nearly fifty years before cooling down to allow trust and independence to grow. Only, they were being directed at an adult Hobbit woman instead of two stubborn pebbles.

Dís would find it amusing.

Frerin only found it troubling.

“You think you'll be able to gather enough extra in such a way?” He doubted it.

“I will manage.” Her tone was as final as a mine collapse. “We can discuss other ways to manage later.”

“You think you can manage starvation?”

“We have before.”

Frerin snapped his mouth shut the moment the words left it, but the Hobbit answered before the the full weight of his mistake slid into place on his shoulders.

Her casual dismissal only increased the weight.

It was as he realized his mistake, his callous remark that touched on the death and hardships his own people had caused the Hobbits not even fifty years ago, that the Hobbit sitting in front of him rumbled a noise of deep, primal anger.

Frerin flinched back to the present immediately, worrying she'd been offended by his words and sudden silence, but her eyes were not on him.

They were looking towards where he'd left Víli with Flambard.

Or rather the group of Men standing there.

Frerin made note of them, but was quick to turn his attention back to Wild One.

She paid him no mind as her eyes took in the Men.

The weight of her gaze, as heavy as an executioner's blade, must have been felt across the distance.

Frerin, out of the corner of his eye, could see the moment the Men sensed a predator out for blood at their exposed necks.

They tensed like startled deer. Shoulders bunched defensively as they turned.

Then, they met her gaze.

The flinch backward was immediate.

The hesitant steps away were a little less.

They moved slowly, almost unsure of their own bodies, as each of the Men shuffled away from Flambard and Víli.

All the while their eyes never left the silver gleam of a wrathful glare, and Frerin's never left her slight form.

He would not have been able to even if he tried.

Not when the shadow of his dearly missed mentor fell upon her features as if Fundin himself lived within the Hobbit's warrior soul.

But that shadow fell into the background when the Men disappeared from view.

Left behind was a scowling Hobbit woman.

One who was looking straight at him.

“If there is nothing else you need of me tonight, I am needed with my kin.”

Frerin stood without a word. He did not trust his voice to be steady after seeing yet another ghost of a loved one in the features of one who hated him.

Instead, he motioned her forward and followed a step behind.

A pain struck his heart in realizing even the way she walked, purposeful and with no wasted movement, was painfully reminiscent of the old general.

“Finished already?” Víli glanced at him with worry in his eyes, but offered the lass a grin.

She didn't return it.

She snatched the back of her cousin's vest as she passed and hauled him into the tent without a word to either of them.

Frerin motioned for Víli to follow. He remained silent, ignoring the concern radiating from his brother-in-arms, until they reached his private tent.

The guards bowed quickly and pulled the fabric aside to let the royal two in, but Frerin barely spared them a glance.

He moved across the small space to sit heavily on the trunk by rolled out furs.

He sighed, shaking his head at Víli in answer to the unspoken question, and ran rough hands over his face.

By the time they fell away, mere seconds later, another Dwarf stood silently beside Víli.

“Ye look like shit,” Nori said after a moment of observation. “Wha' she say to 'ave ye lookin' like tha'?”

Víli turned a surprised stare on the red-haired Dwarf. “You weren't listening in?”

Nori shook his head as Frerin answered. “I had him stay with Thain-Heir. I didn't trust some of the Men not to try and make a move even with Fíli there. Having both of us away would have been a grand opportunity to harm her if that is their goal.”

“Aye,” Nori agreed, eyes gleaming in the same threatening manner as Wild One's. “And they'd 'ave tried if not fer me.” He shrugged under twin curious looks. “A few were makin' their way to the back o' 'er tent. Stopped 'nd scampered off when they saw me watchin'.”

Frerin grimaced. He'd been having problems with Men trying to get closer to Thain-Heir. When they'd been unable to, they immediately began harassing Hobbits.

“Must be when they decided to try their luck getting into the Hobbit tent. I'd say it's a good thing I stayed with Flambard after the other guards left, but I do believe I wasn't what ran them off.”

“Wild One spotted them,” Frerin explained simply at Nori's questioning hum. “She has...an aura of death when angered. It works as a good deterrent for the Lake Master's soldiers.”

“Ye don't say?” Nori only continued to cackle at Víli's glare.

“It's not important right now. Tell us what she said.”

And so he did.

Víli and Nori listened until the end. Neither seemed surprised the lass offered simple solutions. Frerin was Dwarf enough to admit his comparison of her to an old companion clouded his own judgment of her, but he was glad to see two of his most trusted Dwarrow didn't have the same problem.

It was only after he'd finished speaking that Víli hurried to agree with Wild One's plans. As she predicted, he was more than happy to trail after her. Though his reasons were less for keeping her a prisoner and more for keeping wayward Men away from her.

Nori praised her decisions, but wondered about what methods she'd use to collect food for the Hobbits.

Frerin wondered, and worried, too.

Nori disappeared as silently as he appeared a moment later. Víli didn't move.

“Something troubles you.”

Frerin shrugged. He knew better than to try and say otherwise. For all that the Dwarf loved to laugh and play pranks, his brother was too observant to trick with words.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he finally answered after several minutes of staring at the ground. “No, Víli. I don't know my own thoughts right now.”

Víli understood. He _always_ understood. It was one of the main reasons Frerin had accepted him so easily into the family.

For children of Durin were always hard to understand, and even harder to fully accept. Víli was able to do both.

“Go. Check on your son.”

And so he left.

Left Frerin alone to thoughts full of grief and confusion.

It _hurt_ to think about, but Frerin forced himself to conjure up the memory of Wild One again and again to compare with the loved ones who were no longer beside him.

He could so easily see _her_ in the shape of her face and curl of her hair.

The very soul of Fundin lived within her gleaming eyes.

More than that, the Hobbit lass reminded him of other cousins. Cousins who still lived. Both distant and close.

She had Dwalin's mannerisms when expressing herself, and Balin's wit when speaking.

There was something about the way her eyes flashed and the shape themselves that mirrored Nori's own sharp eyes.

The slope of her shoulders and curve of her nose matched young Ori so closely the two could be mistaken as sisters if the Hobbit had a beard.

And then there was her unique hair color.

Dori had a near identical shade.

That color could be found mixed in the white of Balin's hair and the graying of Dwalin's beard.

A silver so light it could be mithril.

All together those features made a Hobbit.

A Hobbit woman who looked like _her_ and held features only seen within the Durin line.

Dread fell heavily in his stomach, and his mind stuttered to a stop.

He couldn't continue that line of thought.

If he did, it would require thinking of things he would not, _could not_ , accept.

Because if it were true, there would be no going back.

There would be no forgiveness.

For if _that_ was the consequence for his actions fifty years ago, he'd never be able to earn it.

Not when he'd be unable to forgive himself.

Let alone ask another for it.

Forgiveness didn't matter all that much to him, anyways.

Frerin hated himself plenty.

What did it matter if a silver-eyed Hobbit Guard hated him, too?

Unfortunately, a lie was in that thought.

One he couldn't ignore.

Because he knew the truth within his soul.

It _mattered_.

_She_ mattered.

More than _anything_.

And he could do _nothing_ about it.

_Just like fifty years ago_ , Frerin thought as he fell into the furs with a bitten off noise of pain and frustration, _I am powerless all over again._

Frerin, in that moment, found he could hate himself a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIEW NEXT CHAPTER:
> 
> The morning came upon the camp quickly, and Bilbo greeted it with a relentless energy that left the other Hobbits spinning.
> 
> They rushed about as best they could in their tired states to follow her instructions.
> 
> Once they realized what she was on about, they were more fluid with breaking into groups and following after her as she led each huddle of Hobbits to their assigned wagon.
> 
> Bilbo had spotted Golden One close to the first of the four Hobbit wagons, but did not acknowledge him. She noticed he looked more troubled and exhausted than he had the night before, but it didn't concern her. It wasn't like it was her fault he didn't sleep well, after all.
> 
> She made sure to greet every Dwarf before leaving her kin. It wouldn't do to leave them with someone she didn't know.
> 
> The first wagon, the one with the children, was of course driven by Bifur. Bofur stood outside the wagon with a wide grin. She pretended not to notice the two Dwarrow handing skillfully carved toys to the young ones as she walked away.
> 
> The second wagon held the food. Bombur, Bofur's brother and Bifur's cousin, was a jolly fellow who put the Hobbits assigned to him at ease. Though he stammered and blushed his way through a greeting with her, Bilbo felt him safe and skilled enough to care for her kin.
> 
> The third wagon, containing travel essentials and other items of differing value, was under Gloín's care. He was a family oriented Dwarf, something any Hobbit could appreciate, and a warrior as well. The veterans assigned to him seemed to like him well enough, so Bilbo left them to it.
> 
> The wagon loaded down with Hobbit packs held an interesting Dwarf Bilbo spotted several times before, but had yet to meet. She'd caught sight of him very nearly every day over the weeks offering any nearby Hobbits snacks from his own pack, water from his own wetskin, and his own arm to lean on for rest.
> 
> He seemed young and old all at once, and cut an interesting figure atop the wagon. Where most Dwarrow were pale from spending so much time underground, this one had rich skin with soil dark eyes and even darker hair. Though half a head shorter than the Dwarrow Bilbo met so far, he was by far the thickest. With arms and legs like tree trunks and a wide barrel chest covered in fur and leather, the Dwarf was hard to miss.
> 
> Though, to be honest, it was the hair that first caught her attention. Unlike most Dwarrow, the hair was curly. Even his impressive beard and groomed sideburns held thick curls.
> 
> The fellow seemed nice enough, but Bilbo felt something was off about him.
> 
> He certainly didn't feel dangerous to her or any of the Hobbits, but there was something she was missing.
> 
> Unease with the unknown kept her feet by the Dwarf, Nordin was his name, until the dedicated Archer finally came for her.


	6. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! With the holidays nearly over, I should be back to posting weekly. I hope everyone is staying safe and warm this holiday season!

-LoSF-

The morning came upon the camp quickly, and Bilbo greeted it with a relentless energy that left the other Hobbits spinning.

They rushed about as best they could in their tired states to follow her instructions.

Once they realized what she was on about, they were more fluid with breaking into groups and following after her as she led each huddle of Hobbits to their assigned wagon.

Bilbo had spotted the Golden Dwarf close to the first of the four Hobbit wagons, but did not acknowledge him. She noticed he looked more troubled and exhausted than he had the night before, but it didn't concern her. It wasn't like it was her fault he didn't sleep well.

She made sure to greet every Dwarf before leaving her kin. It wouldn't do to leave them with someone she didn't know.

The first wagon, the one with the children, was of course driven by Bifur. Bofur stood outside the wagon with a wide grin. She pretended not to notice the two Dwarrow handing skillfully carved toys to the young ones as she walked away.

The second wagon held the food. Bombur, Bofur's brother and Bifur's cousin, was a jolly fellow who put the Hobbits assigned to him at ease. Though he stammered and blushed his way through a greeting with her, Bilbo felt him safe and skilled enough to care for her kin.

The third wagon, containing travel essentials and other items of differing value, was under Gloín's care. He was a family oriented Dwarf, something any Hobbit could appreciate, and a warrior as well. The veterans assigned to him seemed to like him well enough, so Bilbo left them to it.

The wagon loaded down with Hobbit packs held an interesting Dwarf Bilbo had spotted several times before, but had yet to meet. She'd caught sight of him very nearly every day over the weeks offering any nearby Hobbits snacks from his own pack, water from his own wetskin, and his own arm to lean on for rest.

He seemed young and old all at once, and cut an interesting figure atop the wagon. Where most Dwarrow were pale from spending so much time underground, this one had rich skin with soil dark eyes and even darker hair. Though half a head shorter than the Dwarrow Bilbo met so far, he was by far the thickest. With arms and legs like tree trunks and a wide barrel chest covered in black bear fur and dark leather, the Dwarf was hard to miss.

Though, to be honest, it was the hair that first caught her attention. Unlike most Dwarrow, the hair was curly. Even his impressive beard and groomed sideburns held thick curls.

The fellow seemed nice enough, but Bilbo felt something was off about him.

He certainly didn't feel dangerous to her or any of the Hobbits, but there was something she was missing.

Unease with the unknown kept her feet by the Dwarf, Nordin was his name, until the dedicated Archer finally came for her.

She nodded, knowing it was time to begin her hunting with the trek starting for the day, but paused to hoist one of her many cousins atop the wagon to sit beside the Dwarf.

Baneberry Brandybuck squawked as she was plucked from the ground and deposited with nary a warning. The Dwarf laughed heartily at the fuss, but a curious look shone in his eyes as he peered down at her.

“Strong for one so small,” he commented bluntly, but warmly.

A little too warmly, in Bilbo's opinion.

She hadn't been looked at like that, with warm affection and familial acceptance, since Bungo left for the Lady's Gardens.

By the rumbling noise coming from the Dwarf at her back, the Archer noticed the far too welcoming expression aimed at her.

Hearing the intensity of that noise, however, Bilbo wondered if they were reading the Dwarf differently.

“One needs to be when guarding smaller folk from larger ones. Makes it easier to throw the unagreeable sorts out.”

He seemed delighted by her answer, but the less than subtle nudge the Archer gave when bumping their shoulders silenced whatever reply would have been made.

Instead, Nordin set a cool look on the agitated Archer and turned to speak with the Hobbits assigned to his wagon with a joyful grin.

Bilbo, confused and a bit annoyed, huffed as she turned a scowl up at her Dwarven shadow. She was hardly surprised when he wasn't apologetic in the slightest.

Muttering Hobbitsh curses under her breath, Bilbo walked one loop around the wagons to make sure her kin were cared for.

Orders fell carefully from her lips to the caravan veterans. Though she was only reminding them of what to do in emergencies, and making sure they understood she was to be called immediately if anything happened or was suspected to happen, the Archer remained tense while she spoke.

Interestingly, Nordin seemed undeniably intrigued.

With a carefully hidden frown from her kin, Bilbo returned the heartfelt wave from the Dwarf with a lazy one of her own when she moved away from his wagon.

Archer grumbled at her back in annoyance, but she kept her expression carefully blank of the amusement bubbling beneath at the continued insults and deformations being thrown at the odd Dwarf in the Dwarven tongue.

“Something you wish to say, Archer,” Bilbo asked once they reached the edge of the marching company. She immediately began scanning the ground for stones. She'd collected a fair bit rushing around while the camp was broken down, but she'd need more by midday if she were lucky.

“Not at all.” His voice was just a touch too innocent. It reminded Bilbo so suddenly of her mischievous Took cousins when caught plotting that a small chuckle escaped her in surprise. Archer seemed stupidly pleased to have been the cause.

“As you say.” Bilbo paused, swooped down to pluck a pebble off the ground, and continued on. Archer hummed in realization beside her.

“I used to be friends with a Hobbit,” he said suddenly. She stared at him, utterly surprised by the sudden admission, but regained herself quickly. The look of fond amusement when faced with her confusion reminded her strongly of Bungo. He'd worn such an expression often enough during his many lessons. “He used to gather rocks like this, too. Dinner or pain usually came soon after. Sometimes, when his mood was particularly bad, both.”

“Hobbits have good aim,” Bilbo offered. She was not entirely certain what she was meant to say.

Luckily, Archer only laughed happily. “That is true! So, you plan on taking down game as we walk?”

“Aye.”

“I see. Will that yield enough?”

Bilbo shook her head. “No, but it will bring in some meat. I'll be looking for berries and edible plants as we walk, too. Once we get closer to the river, fish is easy enough to catch if you do it the Hobbit way.”

“The Hobbit way?”

Bilbo, with a grin that was all Took, set a challenging look at the Dwarf. “You'll see soon enough.”

Taking advantage of his sudden surprise, Bilbo sped several paces forward to begin her hunt in earnest. Thankfully, Archer seemed to understand her sudden need to focus and became a silent presence at her back.

As they walked, Bilbo focused on the center of her being to call upon her Gift. She allowed only a slight trickle to drop from her feet with every step as she marched, enough to help but not enough to be sensed by even the most attuned Stone Sensors, and carefully listened to the response the Green Earth gave in her call to aide.

The Green Lady, it seemed, had been ready and waiting for Bilbo to reach out.

A flood of information slammed her senses with every continued step. Bilbo knew, instantly and with no doubt, the location of every fruitful tree and hidden berry bush for the next ten or so miles.

Most helpful, however, came from the feather light touch upon her rare Gift as the Lady herself directed it to a single spot half a mile ahead.

Bilbo's heart swelled with love for the aide Lady Yavanna gave freely.

With a warm caress against her Gift, the Lady withdrew.

Bilbo held to that warmth long after her beloved Lady was gone.

With a fortifying breath, knowing they were now minutes from the destination Lady Yavanna ushered her to, Bilbo spun to stand directly before the Dwarven Archer. He stumbled in his attempt to suddenly stop, but she paid no mind to his troubled flailing. Instead, she caught his wrist carefully with quick fingers.

He froze, eyes wide and questioning as they peered down at her, but otherwise appeared untroubled by the sudden contact.

She tugged gently on his wrist to get him to focus on her hands. When he did, she began to mime to him as best she could.

Luckily, what she needed to convey was simple enough.

Silence with a finger to her lips.

Bow was understood by mimicking firing an arrow.

And follow me with a jerk of head and thumb.

The Dwarf, thankfully, understood immediately.

He had his bow readied before she finished the third motion.

Bilbo refused to be impressed by the effortless movement and flawless efficiency.

Turning, and ignoring the sudden interest from Dwarrow close to the edge of the marching group, Bilbo moved silently to the tree line.

She did not need to step into the woods to find the waiting game. The Green Lady had called several gentle creatures close to the edge, but still out of view of any who casually looked in the direction.

Bilbo slowed when she was steps from the clearing that would provide much needed meat and fruit for her kin.

Behind her, with a silence that surprised her, Archer stopped immediately.

Despite herself, Bilbo felt affection warm her heart towards the Dwarf who trusted a prisoner enough to move and halt without question.

Taking a steadying breath to settle any nerves, Bilbo held her hands out towards the Dwarf. He looked somewhat confused, but nodded his permission for her to touch him.

With it freely given, Bilbo carefully placed her hands against his shoulders and nudged him forward and around until he was able to see the little clearing himself.

He looked surprised, but thankfully made no noise.

A jerk of head told her to back away, so Bilbo stepped a few steps closer to the marching line.

A breath later the Dwarf released one arrow after another.

Four bodies fell to the forest floor.

They were dead before they hit the ground.

“Impressive,” Bilbo remarked with clear surprise upon her face. She had expected the Dwarf to hit at least two of the six deer calmly digging around the berry bushes. Four was an act worthy of praise. “You're talented with a bow.”

Archer grinned brightly at her honest words, but bellowed towards the Dwarrow instead of answering. She kept her expression curious to avoid showing she knew the Dwarven tongue. It would not do to laugh at the way Archer casually ordered the _slow bastards of inbred Trolls_ to come collect the kill.

Six Dwarrow responded immediately to his call.

They looked curious at first, but openly stared in shock when the deer were within view.

“It's a berry field. Easy to find when you know what to look for. Larger game tend to hover close to them,” Bilbo said when far too many eyes turned to her. She hadn't realized she backed away from the sudden intensity of stares lit with far too much interest until her back collided with the rumbling chest of the Archer.

He ordered them away with growled words spoken in the Dwarven tongue. His bow, still clutched in a sure hand and steadied slightly in front of her, dipped towards the gathered Dwarrow when they didn't move quick enough.

The message was a loud one: _Back off, or I'll shoot._

They chose wisely.

“Do we have to wait here,” she asked quietly after a moment to shake off the unease the attention caused.

“No. They will carry the deer to the Hobbit food wagon. Master Bombur will handle it from there. We will stop midday to clean the kills and prepare them before the sun has time to spoil the meat.” His voice was far gentler than she'd ever heard. Bilbo didn't know if she should be thankful or offended for his attempt to put her at ease.

“Will they collect the berries? They are ripe.” She nodded towards the bush two of the Dwarrow were poking at. “Blackberries will certainly please the little ones.”

They did. Minutes later four Dwarrow each carried a deer out of the woods, two carefully hauled a folded cloak laden with berries, and Bilbo once again pressed back despite her best efforts into the safety of the Archer's chest to avoid the sudden interest in far too many faces.

He growled when she did so, but did not push her way.

In fact, he shifted so that she was mostly hidden from view as he barked at them angrily until they turned away. He didn't look down at her until every last Dwarf and Man complied. When he did, Bilbo easily read the concern behind a teasing grin.

“I see you aren't one for attentive crowds. Can't say I blame you. Can't stand to be the center of them myself.”

Bilbo nodded, stepping away carefully after cautious look to make sure no one else was staring. She didn't necessarily mind attention, but too much interest would lead to someone finding out about her Gift. Based on past experiences, that would only lead to chains and pain.

Best to avoid any and all interest.

She'd not be any help to her kin while locked away like some rare trinket.

“We should move on. Your leader will no doubt come searching if we fall behind.”

The deflection was obvious, but the Archer was happy to follow it.

He ushered her on, staying a silent pillar of support at her back, and glared anyone who tried to approach them away.

For once, Bilbo was glad to have somehow gained the Dwarf's favor.

That appreciation grew with every lack of comment for each new fruitful tree, mushroom bunch, and edible plant found.

The two continued foraging and hunting as the hours bled by. Though she wasn't directed to anymore large game, Bilbo did manage to impress the Archer with her aim by taking down four large pheasants with thick stones, and a few partridges that hadn't been quick enough to escape thrown pebbles.

Bilbo continued to search, letting her Gift guide her and the determined Archer protect her, until a thundering call rang out to bring everyone to a stop.

She glanced up at the sound, but did not immediately turn back to the group. Instead, Bilbo looked to the patient Archer at her back.

“Looks like our leader has called a halt,” he said with a grin. “Time to prepare your kills.”

“ _Your_ leader,” she corrected absently, kneeling down to carefully dig through the thick shrub stretching rather high overhead. She dug around until she found a few ripe berries. Carefully holding a handful to her chest, she drew back and climbed to her feet. “Here.”

Bilbo dropped the berries in the surprised Dwarf's hands. He blinked down at them, looking uncertain, and shifted on his feet. It conjured to mind the image of the Young Dwarf, but Bilbo pushed thoughts of him away before they could distract her.

“They're safe to eat. The berries are called–”

“Saskatoon,” he mumbled quietly.

“Ah. I'm surprised you know them. My father told me these berries are favored by Dwarrow, so I suppose I shouldn't be.”

“Most of the Dwarrow from Erebor wouldn't know them by sight, but these berries grow everywhere around Ered Luin. It's where I'm from. I haven't had them in nearly fifty years.” He glanced to the shrub with a calculating expression. “There aren't many here. Are you sure you want to give these to me? Your kin–”

“Will be fine,” Bilbo assured simply. “These are payment for your services today. I reward those who work hard, Master Dwarf. Accept them. You've earned them.”

Bilbo started towards her kin before he could reply. He didn't try to give them back, so she counted that as a small victory.

Her kin, as it happened, greeted her long before she reached them.

They shouted happily in praise of a successful hunt. The little ones were particularly chatty as they told of their appreciation for the berries and other snacks she'd sent Dwarf after Dwarf running off to give to the youngest as she found them.

When she did reach them, Bilbo was hardly surprised to see the Golden Dwarf there.

He looked to have been struck speechless by the amount of game she'd been able to spot from the edge of the woods.

Shame he didn't stay that way.

“What did you do?”

“Hunted.”

The look he gave her was one of sheer exasperation.

“Aye. She did well. Sharp eyes and ears. Kind enough to direct me to larger game along our path,” the Archer said with a fine mix of pride and amusement. “The smaller, though, she took down with a few pebbles.”

He stared, seemingly dumbfounded by the information, and looked continuously between her and the wagon. She'd have been more amused if not for the other Dwarrow who overheard. She held her ground as they stopped and stared, but tensed involuntarily when a few stepped forward.

Eyes shining with interest conjured cruel faces from years past, turning friendly curiosity to malicious greed.

Just when her Gift began to tremble within her heart, begging to be released so that it may destroy whatever threatened her, she leaned away from the approaching Dwarrow only to press into a firm wall of leather and fur.

It wasn't the Archer at her back, however.

It wasn't his rumbled noise of careful warning that caused the Dwarrow to pause.

Though no less protective, _this_ noise was different.

It carried the weight of promise rather than warning.

The growl vibrating against her back was primal in intensity, and sent a thrill straight through her nerves and to her Gift.

No, the Dwarrow hadn't stopped due to the warning rumbles of her protective Archer.

They stopped due to the figure of death looming at her back.

For there was nothing but death promised in such a blood-hungry sound.

“I believe everyone has been given assignments. It would be best to see to them.” There was a subtle command in the calm voice of the usually shy Young Dwarf that could not be easily ignored. The Dwarrow heard it and obeyed despite being much older than he. All made sure to give her a wide berth as they hastily made a graceless retreat.

Bilbo, with her expression carefully blank, dared not shift away from the hard line of muscle at her back despite no longer feeling threatened. She wasn't sure she could step away without causing a minor incident. Not with the way her Gift was churning and rolling beneath the surface, thrashing as if trying to reach beyond her own soul to touch another, and thrumming with the vibrations of a thousand hammers striking metal drums in celebration.

No, she did not dare to move.

It would give the secret of her Gift away.

A huff of breath gently shifted through the curls at the top of her head, reminding her she did not even reach the chin of this Dwarf. She had no doubt he'd be even taller once the Young Dwarf reached his majority and grew into his own.

It was a small thing to notice, but it irritated her.

Her sire was a Dwarf and her mother was a Hobbit. She had taken heavily after the Hobbit side, but was considered tall for a Hobbit. The other mixed-race children of Mistfield, Dwobbits who had been born before the Mountain fell and survived the journey to their new settlement, all heavily resembled Dwarrow. They were taller and broader than she, but none as strong.

Bilbo had held out hope she would grow in height as she aged so that she may stand equal beside her Dwobbit kin, but the Young Dwarf behind her told the truth of the matter.

He was nearly equal in age to her, but a good Hobbit foot taller.

It was clear she would not be catching up to her mixed kin.

Though she tried not to think of him, Bilbo could not help but wonder on her sire.

She wondered if he was short compared to other Dwarrow, or if she just heavily took after her mother even in height.

Though she barely had any memories of Belladonna Took, Bungo had been kind enough to give her a drawn portrait of her mother standing with the siblings who survived the dangerous journey to the shaded fields that they would soon turn into Mistfield. She had been the shortest of the bunch.

If her sire was only a bit taller than a Hobbit, it would certainly explain her own petite frame. Well, petite by Dwobbit standards.

“Are you alright?”

Bilbo blinked at both the sudden question at her back and concerned expression of the Golden Dwarf aimed at her. She had, quite unintentionally, been staring at the Dwarf as she forced her Gift to calm and lost herself in thoughts of her sire.

Choosing to ignore the obvious questions glinting in thoughtful eyes, she turned her focus to the one that had actually been voiced.

“Fine,” Bilbo said, tilting her head back without bothering to move. Her arms, crossed beneath her chest, hid the slight tremble of her hands when the back of her skull thumped gently against the Young Dwarf's sternum. She'd forgotten, somehow, how close he'd been. It was rare for her to be so accustomed to another's presence that she would overlook them being within her personal space. Bilbo cursed her traitorous instincts for slotting this Dwarf into a place her heart allowed only a few to reside. “Are you here to help with preparing the Archer's kills?”

As the Young Dwarf's lips twitched, something Bilbo was able to see clearly from the odd position they found themselves comfortably standing in, she realized the Dwarf looked similar to the kindhearted Archer. The coloring was obviously different, but the mouth, strong jaw, and shape of eyes were the same. Even the ears, peaking through the mane of gold, matched.

She didn't doubt they were related, but she could not tell how. A bead could have marked the relation between the two, but Bilbo had noticed early in the march that the Dwarrow had removed any beads showing family signs.

Bilbo had little doubt it had been ordered by the Golden Dwarf as a precaution in case any of the Hobbits were old enough to remember House runes.

He'd been cautious enough to order his Dwarrow not to give their names, after all.

“I am,” he answered with a soft grin. The command and anger from before was gone from his voice. Now, as he looked down at her with bright eyes shining with a touch of nervousness, he was the same shy Dwarf who always hovered near but was never truly there she had come to know from a distance. She chose not to acknowledge just how easily she could spot his solid frame marching through the larger Men and Dwarrow. “I was tasked with offering my hand in aide this morning.”

Bilbo nodded absently, remembering only when doing so where her head rested, and ruthlessly shoved down any embarrassment felt in realizing the action would be considered an affectionate nuzzle by Hobbit reckoning of public displays. She only hoped Primula's wagon wasn't close enough to witness. She already knew she wasn't fortunate enough to be out of Flambard's view, but Primula's merciless teasing added to Flambard's mischievous grins would be too much for even her to endure.

“Do you have a blade aside from those swords? We will be needing a sharp one for skinning.”

His grin widened, but remained a touch bashful. “A few.”

“Right.” Bilbo looked forward. She steadfastly ignored the bright grin the Archer wore and the stunned look of the Golden Dwarf. A shiver went through her Gift when she stepped away from the wall of heat along her back, but she did not allow herself to do the same. “Come along, then. Those blades can be put to use.”

“I am at your service.”

Bilbo nodded, but said nothing as the Young Dwarf trailed behind her.

She chose to ignore how he stood much closer than the Archer usually did.

It was harder to ignore the part of her that was pleased he chose to do so.

Still, Bilbo managed to shove those thoughts and feelings away.

Avoiding the wishes of her heart was something she did well.

If only she could remind her Gift of that.

-LoSF-

Calling halt to the march to set up camp for the night was something Fíli found himself to be overly grateful for. The moment Frerin gave the order, he threw himself into his usual duties to avoid Nori's sly smirks and Bifur's approving grins.

The less said about the combined force of Frerin's disapproving frown and Flambard's knowing eyes was for the better.

He should have known better than to take the Dwarrow to task when they'd turned thoughtful eyes on the Hobbit Guard. Fíli had no doubt his father would have handled them.

But no rational thought, logical reasoning, or instinctive understanding could have prevented him from interfering when her bare feet shifted to move her away from the Dwarrow closing in.

Not when his Stone Sense _screamed_ with the distress radiating from the vibrations of her movements.

He had moved and spoken before his mind caught up with the actions of his body.

Fíli knew he should have apologized for stepping into his father's position as the Hobbit woman's assigned guardian, but he found himself not regretting it in the slightest when the warmth of her small but sturdy body seeped through leathers and furs to heat the suddenly sensitive skin beneath.

He'd looked down once he'd come back to himself only to realize how close he stood to the Hobbit.

Silver curls always tamed with a single tight plait filled his gaze. A scent that reminded him of flowers, spice, and honey overtook him. He'd sighed at the feeling of peace her closeness caused before thinking better of it, but the lass didn't appear offended.

Fíli had caught sight of his father's amused face before speaking, and vowed to get control of himself before he scared the lass like the other Dwarrow had.

He thought he would manage fine, but he hadn't been prepared for those big silver eyes to tilt back to him without a single trace of the hesitation and distress his Stone Sense had felt from her earlier.

She stood far too close.

Close enough to see tiny flecks of blue and pale amethyst in silver eyes.

He broke that vow the same moment he made it.

Truly, he didn't mind so much.

Fíli had been more than happy to offer her whatever service she required, if only to stay close to her.

It was easy to ignore the stares of his kin with her by his side. Though they spoke very little as they worked on preparing the kills, Fíli was content enough with getting to stay near.

Frerin, for once, was unable to keep him away. Not with how the Hobbit neatly pulled him in to put him to work.

His uncle would have to give her a knife to continue the work alone if he so badly wanted to keep them separate.

Luckily, at least for Fíli, Frerin was not willing to hand her a blade. His leathers still showed exactly what she could do with one, after all.

It was after they finished their task and went separate ways that Fíli realized he may have been far too obvious with his feelings.

Though his brother was the one best known for having them on display for all to see, his attention to the Hobbit Guard's care was hard to miss.

Given the slightly disturbing grin his own father sent him as he collected the silver-eyed lass, Fíli was more than willing to bet he had been even more obvious than Kíli when he'd first realized his affections for Ori.

Which really made things difficult during the other half of the day's trek.

Still, Fíli bore all the jokes and leers as he continued to travel between the Hobbit wagons to make sure everyone was well.

He'd noticed all the Hobbits were suddenly including him more eagerly in conversation, and being far more friendly.

Fíli didn't doubt it was due to how he treated their precious Guard.

None of that meant he was willing to stand among them to silently take all the knowing looks a second longer than necessary.

So, in a maneuver that reminded him far too much of his brother, he made a quick retreat the second Frerin called for a stop.

He had no doubt Frerin would want to talk to him about his actions, but Fili wasn't in the mood for it.

Fili knew his uncle, like his father, had been great companions with a Hobbit. Víli had claimed the one by the Blue Mountains as his brother long ago, but the exact relationship Frerin had with his own Hobbit was a mystery.

They were close.

Maybe even close in the way Dwalin and Thorin were.

Like Nori and Víli.

And Dís and Dori.

They were shield and sword for one another.

They stood together in peace and in war.

He knew his uncle never found that Mahal Blessed connection between any of the Dwarrow he'd fought and trained beside.

But perhaps he had found it with the Hobbit woman no one spoke of.

It would explain why Frerin acted like a wounded bear whenever the Hobbit Guard spoke against him.

She probably reminded him of a broken Bond.

It was something no Dwarf wanted to be reminded of.

“Ye look mighty thoughtful fer one who 'ad his head in the clouds half the day.” Bofur's sudden voice, thick with amusement and light with concern, shook Fíli from his thoughts. He had sat down not long ago to rest by one of the flickering fires after running himself ragged, but it seemed stopping for even a moment was long enough to be caught by a nosy Dwarf. “Wanna talk 'bout 'er?”

“No.” Fíli stared at the fire, arms crossed in annoyance as he huffed. “No one to talk about.”

“Sure, lad. Ye keep tellin' yerself tha'.” Bofur was definitely amused, but didn't push the matter. “So, if the wee lass is nah on yer mind, wha' is?”

Fíli stayed silent for only a moment. He sagged, elbows resting heavily on his knees, as he scrubbed his face. He hated how easily Bofur could read him at times. Though Bifur was the one who usually guarded him, it was Bofur, being one of the few Dwarrow born with the ability to create Forged Bonds, who knew him better. Though Forged Bonds were not as strong as Blessed Bonds and can be easily broken without harm, Bofur had an uncanny ability to deeply sense even the shallowest of connections.

It was, in truth, the reason he became known so well among the Noble Houses. The second his ability manifested, Bofur was plucked up by the Line of Durin, chosen by Thror himself, and trained so that he could create Forged Bonds between all the royals. If something happened to a single member of the royal family, the rest would know immediately.

Such an advantage had served them all well over the years. Even Fíli, who held a stronger Bond than most with Bofur due to their close friendship, had been saved by it more than once.

It had been forged decades ago, and grew stronger every year. It was foolish for Fíli to hope Bofur would not sense the troubles of his mind. It was no different than the time he thought Dori wouldn't sense his mother, Lady Dís, becoming distressed in Erebor's Assembly Hall while he walked outside the mountain among the visiting merchant stalls in search of fabrics and teas.

Fíli had been young at the time, still considered a pebble, so didn't know all that went into a Bond. He had been certain back then Dori wouldn't be able to help. Fíli had desperately racked his youthful mind about in hopes of quickly finding a way to help his mother, who he could tell was stiff as stone from his place on her lap, but was rescued from causing a scene himself when Dori tossed open the heavy doors to the hall with a push of a single hand and marched in, not even glancing at the royal family, to bodily throw out the Dwarf who had caused his mother's upset.

Until that moment, most hadn't realized the coward of a Dwarf Lord was causing the Princess of Erebor pain in alluding to an event only a handful of older Dams would make the connection to. It was only when Dori respectfully asked Crowned Prince Thráin to excuse Princess Dís as well as the rest of the present Dams for the rest of the evening that the gathered court saw how ashen their beloved Princess looked, how tightly she clung to her child as if in fear he'd be ripped away, and how pained her eyes shone.

Many would have commented, but a low keen, soft and gentle in the way only a Dam's voice could be, broke the stunned silence before any could speak. A High Lord's wife stood swiftly and fled the room. Several other Dams, all close in age, soon followed.

His mother was the only one who managed to keep the tears away.

The kin of the shaken Dams had shot out of court after the one who had caused such distress among those who all Dwarrow were meant to protect at any cost.

The bastard was never found, and Fíli never learned of what the Lord from the Blackbeard Clan spoke of.

Instead, he learned those with an accepted Bond held a sixth sense for one another.

Like Dori, Bofur was responding to that sense in order to put him at ease.

Fíli felt a sudden pang of guilt for not having better control of himself.

His surging emotions shouldn't be his Bond's problem.

Be it a Forged or Blessed one.

“Ach. None of tha',” Bofur said softly, looking at him in earnest. “Ye are still young, but 'ave better control than most yer age.”

“Thank you,” Fíli murmured around a tired sigh. “I'll try and center myself better. I did not mean to trouble you.”

“Ye didn't,” Bofur assured. “So?”

He hesitated for a moment, but quietly shared his thoughts after making sure no one was listening in. “I've noticed Uncle Frerin acts more like Uncle Thorin when around the Hobbit Guard. I know he used to travel around with a Hobbit lass. Perhaps she reminds him of her?”

It was said softly, but Bofur flinched and looked hurriedly around them with eyes brimming with worry. He leaned over, voice less than even a whisper, with a warning on his tongue.

“Careful, lad. Ye have no way of knowin' it, but it be right dangerous to talk 'bout 'er 'round Frerin. She's the sorest o' spots fer 'im. Only yer ma 'nd Thorin know wha' happened 'tween 'em, along wit' their Blessed Bonds, bu' yer uncle 'as bloodied many a Dwarf fer mentioning 'er. Dwalin and Dori, too. They never fully forgave 'im fer what it was he did. Dwalin nearly killed 'im. Would 'ave if not fer 'is oath to protect the royal line. Dori spoke not a word to 'im for a decade.”

Fíli blinked in surprise. He'd never known any of this before, but he vaguely remembered a time when he was still a pebble where Dwalin would get angry when Frerin entered the room. Dori would cease all conversation and stand in silence at his mother's shoulder when Frerin approached.

It was so long ago that he forgot all about that tense time.

“I remember that,” he said, confusion lacing his voice. “But I do not understand. Why would they get so angry? Dori and Dwalin both have a Bond with my family members, so it could not have been that.”

“Ye do not 'ave to be a Bond to care fer another,” Bofur reminded gently.

Fili nodded, but he still didn't understand. If the lass was Frerin's Bond, then what was she to Dwalin and Dori? An honorary sister? It would make sense. Dori had adopted Ori when she was just a babe after the death of her parents. As the oldest of the remaining Ri Line, he had the right to decide what to do with her. Since he was also her older cousin, their mothers being sisters, he chose to adopt her as an honored sister.

The adoption was recognized by all. Nori and Dori became the elder brothers of young Ori with no resistance.

Perhaps Dori adopted the lass in the same way?

But if that were the case, then what was the lass to Dwalin?

Maybe one of the Hobbit Guards he trained?

A shield-sister?

The only way to know would be to ask, but Bofur already said he shouldn't.

Asking Nori was still an option, but he'd react badly if the lass was indeed a lost sister.

Maybe his father knew?

“Thinking hard?”

Bofur and Fíli, along with most of those sitting at the little fire, jumped and reached for weapons when a sudden voice spoke loudly to disrupt the quiet rhythm of the night.

“Bless me!” Bofur scrambled for his hat that fell from his head when he'd tumbled forward.

Lightning quick fingers snatched it from the air to gently hold in one small hand. The Hobbit lass, with a single brow raised in obvious displeasure, deposited it back on Bofur's head before he could fully right himself.

“Apologies. I thought you'd hear me clanking my way over,” the Hobbit Guard quipped, shaking the chains binding her wrists to get her point across. It was as she did so that Fíli realized she held a bowl in one hand. With how full it was, he was surprised she didn't spill any.

“Ah. Sorry. We had been distracted.” Fíli shifted into a more comfortable position, face warm in embarrassment for being taken by surprise so easily. He wanted to prove he wasn't a child to the Guard, but his reactions always spoke of inexperience when he was truly much better trained.

“I noticed.”

“Right.” Fili looked to Bofur for help, but the traitor was only hiding a grin under his mustache. Bastard was clearly amused watching him flounder for what to say. “Why are you away from your kin?”

He thought it was a safe enough comment, but a silver brow arched in the same way his mother's did when his father said something particularly dense.

Fíli hid a wince.

“Am I not allowed to be?”

“Of course you are,” he said quickly. “You're free to go wherever you wish.” A twitch of a delicate nose and pointed glance at the shackles had him scrambling to continue. “Well, what I mean is that–” A noise escaped his throat as words failed him. Bofur began shaking from withheld laughter beside him, but the Hobbit Guard was kind enough to ignore his obvious blunder.

“Thank you,” she replied kindly. “The Archer escorted me here. I'm to meet with your leader.” She pointed towards the right where Frerin's tent was. His father was standing at the entrance, leaning inside to no doubt remind his uncle to stay calm when talking to the woman, and not even bothering to watch the Hobbit he was put in charge of.

“Ah. I'm surprised he's not beside you,” Fíli murmured. It wasn't like his father. Even when he wasn't assigned to her, his eyes constantly sought her to make sure she stayed safe. He'd taken the girl under his wing, treating her in the way a Dwarf would a daughter or niece, and guarded her with the same attentiveness he applied to his Craft.

“He was standing here a moment ago. Dropped me off to speak with you. He will be back in a moment.”

Fíli decided to ignore that he'd been so deep in thought even his father had managed to sneak by him. “With me?”

“Yes.” She held out the bowl, rolling her eyes when he didn't reach for it. She solved his sudden bout of paralysis by grabbing at his wrist to force his upturned hand to take the bowl. “For you. It's your reward for working hard.”

“But I–”

“You earned it.” The Guard speared him with an earnest expression. He wasn't sure what he was feeling under that heartfelt look, but by Bofur's sudden choking noise he imagined the toy-maker read it well enough. “I reward those who work hard on the caravan. The work you did today for the sake of my kin counts. You helped prepare the meat, so you get a portion of the stew. Eat.”

Fili hurried to follow that order for two reasons. First, a mouthful of good stew meant he didn't have to reply. Second, she sounded startlingly like his mother just then.

And no one told Dís no.

“Good.” She seemed pleased by his compliance if the little smile twitching at the corner of her lips was anything to go by. Fili couldn't say he minded overly much. If obeying the order to eat a meal that tasted as though it should be sitting on the Stone Father's table made her happy, he could suffer such hardship.

“This is amazing,” he managed to mutter after shoving several more spoonfuls in his mouth. Fili recalled being told Hobbits were outstanding chefs, but he hadn't been prepared for the explosive flavor from a simple stew.

“Thank you.” She looked towards his father as if checking his position, but her pale skin couldn't hide the gentle bloom of pink on her cheeks. Fíli bit down a grin around another bite. “I'm glad my cooking holds up well with a Dwarf's stomach.”

“You made this,” he asked, staring at her in surprise. “How in the world did you find the time to cook?”

The grin she wore was all mischief and twisted at his stomach. “Hobbits always have time to cook, Master Dwarf.” She shrugged. “My kin, as you know, are being escorted tonight to the shallow river to bathe. I took over cooking so everyone could go.”

“But what about you?” That probably wasn't a safe topic, but it was too late to take back the words. She didn't seem bothered, anyways.

“Your leader needs help reading the maps. As I'm the only one here who has traveled Misty paths the last few decades, I'm the only one who can help.”

Fíli could only stare. “You're going to help us get over the mountains?”

“Yes. I'd rather your leader not drag my kin onto dangerous paths. Hobbits are sturdy, but I'll not chance my people on a crumbling mountainside if a wrong route is taken.”

Well, when it was put like _that_.

“You two done talking?” Víli's sudden voice at his back had him choking on a thick piece of carrot. He nearly cursed him for embarrassing him, but instead sent a prayer to Mahal to bless his father when the Hobbit Guard made a distressed noise and began rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

“Are you alright?”

“Perfect.” The word barely managed to croak out of his throat, but Fíli would swallow hot coals and be fine as long as she continued those firm movements against the knots on his back.

“If you're sure,” she mumbled, pulling away slowly with a look of uncertainty. Fili had no doubt she was worried about the way his face burned red, but he wasn't about to tell her it had nothing to do with his momentary lack of air.

“He's waiting for you,” Víli said after a long moment of looking between the two.

“How wonderful.” The sarcasm was as thick as his embarrassment.

“Go on. Best finish it up quickly. We will go to your kin after.”

The Guard sighed, but agreed. She nodded politely to Bofur, but offered a small smile to him. “Just hand that to any Hobbit when you're done. We will take care of it.” She turned and walked away before he could reply.

Fíli watched her leave, admiring how the warm light of the campfire seemed to dance down her braid as she walked, and flinched from both his dad's hand connecting with the back of his head and Bofur's unrestrained snort.

“Behave,” Víli warned quietly before moving to follow the lass.

“Besotted,” Bofur muttered, shaking his head fondly. “I wish ye luck, lad. Yer gonna need it.”

Though he grumbled, Fili didn't deny either claim. He stayed quiet, taking small bites of stew, and trailed the Hobbit Guard with an attentive stare until she disappeared into the tent.

“Smitten. Enamored. Twit–”

Bofur's chortles continued long after he'd been shoved to the ground. They were so loud and distracting, it explained why no one saw the Hobbit lass abruptly storm from the tent with eyes flashing with rage and a red-faced Dam rushing out a moment after to try and keep up.

The sudden shouts between Víli and Frerin, however, could not be so easily drowned out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview of Next Chapter:
> 
> -LoSF-
> 
> Víli shook his head after smacking his son out of the dazed stare fixated on the Hobbit Guard's back. He followed her quickly, pausing just long enough to warn Fíli to keep himself out of trouble.
> 
> If Fíli was anything like he had been after meeting his mother, the warning would be needed.
> 
> Sighing over his son's terrible luck in finding his One at such a stressful time, Víli escorted the Hobbit inside Frerin's tent with a prayer to Mahal to help the two hopeless youths.
> 
> They would need all the help they could get.
> 
> “Took you long enough,” an agitated rumble said the second they crossed the threshold.
> 
> Especially with the idiot being so against the two, Víli thought in annoyance as the lass bristled.
> 
> “If you needed me sooner, you needed only to send for me. It's not like I could refuse.”
> 
> “No,” Frerin agreed coldly. The tone and defiant expression mixed with the defensive posture set off every warning bell created over his many years beside the Durin Siblings. Víli shot a quelling look at his brother, but Frerin continued on with a stubborn raise of his chin. “You would only delay yourself by attempting to buy the affections of a soldier.”
> 
> The lass froze. A look of surprise softened her features a moment before a polite mask hardened it. Víli flinched at the ice in her eyes. The Dam standing quietly at the edge of the makeshift table where maps were spread out, one of Gloín's daughters, looked but one wrong word away from hurling her throwing axe at Frerin's head.
> 
> “Pardon?”
> 
> “Do not think I haven't noticed your attention towards one of the younger soldiers of my company. You will not be able to buy your way out of those chains by playing with his misplaced curiosity. Cease your flirtations. My soldiers will not be so easily bought. Even if what you are selling is considered exotic, they are far more loyal than a roadside tumble.”
> 
> The reaction was so instant and merciless that Víli didn't have time to react. He wasn't sure he'd have stopped the lass if he could have. He wanted to put Frerin's face in the dirt himself. Maybe grind it down to rub off the petulant expression.
> 
> With a noise of outrage in the back of her throat, the Hobbit Guard kicked a foot out to unbalance a barrel holding a tray topped by a full mug and bowl. She caught the bowl before a single drop spilled, but whipped the cup across the space between herself and Frerin.
> 
> The liquid splashed over Frerin's face, blinding him, and the cup swiftly followed to crack lightning quick against his forehead a moment after.
> 
> Víli could only watch, stunned and more than a bit proud, as the cup split from the strength of the throw and thickness of a Durin skull.
> 
> Frerin staggered with a curse. He swiped quickly at the liquid, wincing when he connected with the already swollen knot from the Hobbit Guard's true aim, and turned a wrathful glare full of Durin hotheadedness on the lass.
> 
> Poor bastard didn't get a word out before the irate woman was on him.


	7. SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I do hope you all are enjoying the story. I'm going to do my best to get the next chapter out tonight or tomorrow. It depends on when I can get my little ones to bed.

-LoSF-

Víli shook his head after smacking his son out of the dazed stare fixated on the Hobbit Guard's back. He followed her quickly, pausing just long enough to warn Fíli to keep himself out of trouble.

If Fíli was anything like he had been after meeting his mother, the warning would be needed.

Sighing over his son's terrible luck in finding his One at such a stressful time, Víli escorted the Hobbit inside Frerin's tent with a prayer to Mahal to help the two hopeless youths.

They would need all the help they could get.

“Took you long enough,” an agitated rumble said the second they crossed the threshold.

_Especially with the idiot being so against the two_ , Víli thought in annoyance as the lass bristled.

“If you needed me sooner, you needed only to send for me. It's not like I could refuse.”

“No,” Frerin agreed coldly. The tone and defiant expression mixed with the defensive posture set off every warning bell created over his many years beside the Durin Siblings. Víli shot a quelling look at his brother, but Frerin continued on with a stubborn raise of his chin. “You would only delay yourself by attempting to buy the affections of a soldier.”

The lass froze. A look of surprise softened her features a moment before a polite mask hardened it. Víli flinched at the ice in her eyes. The Dam standing quietly at the edge of the makeshift table where maps were spread out, one of Gloín's daughters, looked but one wrong word away from hurling her throwing axe at Frerin's head.

“Pardon?”

“Do not think I haven't noticed your attention towards one of the younger soldiers of my company. You will not be able to buy your way out of those chains by playing with his misplaced curiosity. Cease your flirtations. My soldiers will not be so easily bought. Even if what you are selling is considered exotic, they are far more loyal than a roadside tumble.”

The reaction was so instant and merciless that Víli didn't have time to react. He wasn't sure he'd have stopped the lass if he could have. He wanted to put Frerin's face in the dirt himself. Maybe grind it down to rub off the petulant expression.

With a noise of outrage in the back of her throat, the Hobbit Guard kicked a foot out to unbalance a barrel holding a tray topped by a full mug and bowl. She caught the bowl before a single drop spilled, but whipped the cup across the space between herself and Frerin.

The liquid splashed over Frerin's face, blinding him, and the cup swiftly followed to crack lightning quick against his forehead a moment after.

Víli could only watch, stunned and more than a bit proud, as the cup split from the strength of the throw and thickness of a Durin skull.

Frerin staggered with a curse. He swiped quickly at the liquid, wincing when he connected with the already swollen knot from the Hobbit Guard's true aim, and turned a wrathful glare full of Durin hotheadedness on the lass.

Poor bastard didn't get a word out before the irate woman was on him.

“How _dare_ you,” she hissed, sounding more like Dís than any single person had a right to. “Ignorant oaf! I've dealt with Trolls with more manners. Three, in fact! Pleasant in comparison, really. More than your foul visage, I assure you.”

Frerin, understandably, recoiled from the muscle locking frost and bone pelting ice the tone was able to wield. Though not on the receiving end of such ire, Víli couldn't deny his on survival instincts kicking in as the hair on his neck and back rose when a shiver of fear ran down his spine.

Wisely, being long practiced in the ways of an enraged female, he stepped out of her line of sight and remained silent.

Frerin, proving once more that he was bred for war rather than rule, opened his damn mouth in an unwanted display of his forge hot temper.

“Listen to me, Halfli–”

The spoon from the bowl struck the Dwarf Prince between his eyes, silencing the insulting word before it could be fully uttered.

“You are not young enough to be unaware of what that term means among my kin, Dwarf. I've ignored your blatant insult for the sake of my people, but I'll not hear it uttered this night if you wish to keep your tongue.” She looked angry enough to rip it out herself.

“I have come to you this night by _your_ request to aide on _your_ march over the mountains that _none_ within your company know the safest routes of. I have not come to be offered insult.” Her voice was a controlled murmur, but it screeched through his ears all the same.

With her head up and shoulders back, the Hobbit turned towards Víli with all the grace of a bred and raised Royal. He froze under her frosty glare, but was happy to see none of her frigid anger was directed his way.

“Here,” she said, offering the bowl she saved earlier. “A Hobbit, especially one who knows well of starvation and the gnawing aches that come with it, does not throw away food.”

Víli took it with a nod, tucked away that bit of personal information, and glanced warily at Frerin. The Dwarf was cursing low in the Tongue of Dwarrow, rubbing angrily at the spot between his eyes, and glaring at the Hobbit's back.

“You will sit here and–”

“I will do _nothing_ at _your_ orders, Dwarf. Ever,” she spat, eyes blazing and muscles coiled for a fight. “I am in chains by the _insistence_ of my beloved cousin. I will remain bound until she has need of me. Do not make the mistake in thinking a Dwarf will ever have authority over me. You will find, Enslaver, Hobbits only follow where the Green Lady bids us to go. Not the Stone Father and his children!”

Frerin's face twisted in outrage. Víli shifted enough to earn the attention of that blue glower, but the lass was speaking before he could warn his brother off.

“I've had enough of your grotesque disposition for one evening. Control your temper the next we meet, or I will not be helping you. It was the shackles I agreed to bear, _not_ your bullying and judgment,” she warned, turning for the door with an obvious tremble in balled fists. “I do not stand for such vulgar insults. Especially from a orc-minded savage who is taking out past transgressions on one who had yet to bloom to life when the ill feelings were born.”

She paused, tilting her head ever slightly towards him as she reached for the canvas blocking her escape. “Goodnight, Archer. I will see myself to my kin. I've had enough dealings with Dwarrow for the night.”

Víli was already turning to look at the red-faced Dam before she finished speaking. With a quick jerk of his head, the Dam rushed out of the tent in chase of the offended Hobbit. The hostile look she gave Frerin was noted but not addressed.

Víli himself was feeling more than a little hostile on the Hobbit's behalf.

“What in the absolute _stone_ was _that_ ,” Víli demanded the moment they were gone.

He expected an answer. He hadn't expected his brother-in-law to turn wounded eyes set in a mask of hurt driven rage on him.

“You tell me, brother. It is you who have become fascinated with that ill-mannered creature.”

Víli grit his teeth, breathed in deeply, and tried to remind himself Frerin always acted out this way when he was hurting. And though Víli knew this and the reasons behind it, it mattered little when Frerin spoke into the momentary silence with words meant to rile.

“Are you so lost without my sister to chase the heels of that you'd turn to the first female with spine around,” he taunted, moving around the makeshift desk with eyes bright in challenge.

“If you needed to work some of that stress out, you only had to ask. I'd have been happy to spar.” Víli paused only long enough to sit the bowl of stew out of the way. “Now, after such an insult, I'll not give you the chance to fight back.”

Víli was on his idiot brother in a blink.

They collided with roars meant for battle.

Though they cursed and shouted for all the camp to hear, Víli did not worry about anyone coming to separate the two as they rolled on the ground throwing just as many insults as punches.

No Dwarf was fool enough to get into a fight between two Durin Royals.

Especially not one as prone to violence as Frerin.

_All the luckier for me_ , Víli thought viciously while driving Frerin's face into the dirt with a merciless swipe at his jaw. He had every intention of seeing his threat through by not letting his brother up until some sense was thoroughly beaten into his stone-dense skull.

He'd go check on the Guard soon, but first Víli had every intention of giving a bruise for each insult she'd received since her capture.

And maybe a few extra.

-LoSF-

Fury rolled off Bilbo in surging waves. It was with much effort that she kept it from thundering through the ground with every step she took. She did not know if the Dam at her back had Stone Sense or not, but she would not chance being found out due to her own lack of self-control.

“Peace, Mistress Hobbit!” The Dam, a natural beauty with wavy locks of shining red and dark eyes glimmering under jeweled brows, hurried to catch up. “I must apologize for our leader. The General is a good Dwarf, but he allows his words to run at times.”

“Kind of you to say,” Bilbo murmured after pausing to allow the Dam to reach her side. “But he said exactly what he meant to.”

The Dam grimaced, but said nothing against Bilbo's claim.

“Still, I apologize. It was not his place to remark on your character in such a way. If you were a Dam, he'd have found himself a few braids short for such disrespect. As it is, I believe the one you call 'Archer' is intending to defend your honor.”

Bilbo snorted, but did not reply. She'd not be revealing her heritage just to watch the Golden Dwarf have his judgmental ass handed to him by his own soldiers, but it warmed her heart to know Archer cared enough about her as a simple Hobbit woman of no known title to stand in her defense.

“I know you have no reason to trust any of us. I cannot even offer my services in this situation. Even if I am ordered to not give you a proper greeting, I would like to give you my name. Call me Emli. I am happy to walk with you this night.”

Though she tried not to, Bilbo found herself relaxing enough to smile at the Dam. She appeared young, but no more so than herself. If Bilbo had to guess, she'd say the girl was only just considered of age enough to travel. She wouldn't be surprised if Emli had one or both parents nearby to oversee her first journey.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said gently after a loud breath. “I appreciate your kindness.” The Dam smiled softly as they reached the treeline, but didn't turn as Bilbo thought she would. “I suppose you are accompanying me to my kin?”

“Aye.” She nodded with a bright grin. “Archer sent me out after you. He's made it very clear that you are to be protected at all times when moving about away from your kin.”

Bilbo snorted. She raised a curious brow at the Dam, and was rather surprised when she received a sly grin in turn.

“Our Archer seems to have quickly grown fond of you. I'm confident enough in feeling so to say he'd no doubt offer you the protection of his House if he thought you'd not take it as an offense.”

Though her expression didn't change, Bilbo paused in her walking to stare at the Dam. She weighed the words spoken, and found a heavier meaning then what was being said.

“Is that important?”

“Aye,” Emli smiled, relaxing when Bilbo didn't react badly to her opinion. “For a Dwarf to offer the full protection of his bloodline, especially one who is married to his One and has heirs, it is to tell all other Dwarrow that he sees he or she as good as shared blood. Like a niece of nephew,” she explained further at Bilbo's confused look.

“You believe Archer thinks of me as a niece?”

Emli nodded. “Niece or honored daughter. Think of that as you would an adopted child. He would not be so protective of you if not.”

Bilbo frowned at the Dam, but turned to continue walking. Her steps were slower with heavy thoughts. She did her best to get them in order before speaking into the silence.

“Why?”

“Why he'd want to claim you as such?” Bilbo nodded. “As I said, he's grown fond. Dwarrow recognize those similar in spirit. Perhaps he saw himself in you. Or, maybe, he sensed an old companion. Finding imprints of the dead in the living make it easier to claim someone as kin.”

“Old companion,” Bilbo repeated softly. “As in the Hobbit he used to know?”

Emli seemed surprised, but pleased. “Oh! So he's mentioned that? Archer used to travel all around the Blue Mountains with his Hobbit friend. My Da told me the lad was a good influence on Archer, and even helped watch over his little ones. Archer's wife was fond of him, too. If you knew her, you'd know that says a mighty lot.”

Though she hummed in thought and continued walking the path towards her kin, inside Bilbo was rapidly going over those she knew who had managed to survive the trip from the Blue Mountains.

It pained her to think about it, but she knew that many didn't make it. Of all the settlements, the Blue Mountains had been the most dangerous to leave. A terrible winter moved in just after the Hobbits fled. Many fell into the snow and never stood again. Others were hunted by starving wolves, Goblins, and Wargs.

Whoever Archer's friend was, it was likely he didn't survive the journey.

Less than five percent of the population of Mistfield had come from the Blue Mountains.

Of those who did, only a handful still lived.

The others fell to age, sickness, and war as time went on.

Bilbo was certain the Hobbit the Dwarven Archer saw in her had long ago left for Yavanna's Gardens.

“Is that why you were in the tent? On Archer's request to see me safely to my kin,” Bilbo asked, carefully moving away from the conversation that had left her mildly uncomfortable. She'd not had anyone who wished to stand in such a position in her life since Bungo died. In truth, she was not sure how to feel about it.

“Ah!” Emli nodded, following the change of topic without pause. “I was supposed to be going over the maps with you, but I do not mind this task in place of the other.”

“Oh? The maps?”

Emli nodded once more. “I am young among my kin, but my Craft lies in maps. Those with my Craft who dedicate themselves as I have are called Path Makers. If we look at a map with a considerable among of information regarding the land it shows, we can _feel_ the way the map wishes us to travel. From that feeling, we create a traveling route.”

Bilbo sent an impressed look to the young Dam, and smiled warmly at her proud grin. She would have questioned more about the way her rare Craft worked, but a sharp noise stayed both tongue and foot.

Turning her head to Emli, she realized the Dam heard the off noise as well. Her jeweled brows were furrowed in confusion as she slowly stepped forward.

“My younger sister is supposed to be standing guard on this path to keep the women safe. We should have come across her by now.”

Bilbo let that sink in for all of one moment before holding out her hand to still the Dam. As she became a silent presence at her back, Bilbo tilted her head to hear the sounds of the woods better.

It took a moment to find the noise, but Bilbo reacted immediately when she did.

The Dam was hot on her heels as Bilbo bolted through the woods with the single-minded focus of a predator on the hunt.

By the time she closed in on her goal, the sounds of a scuffle and muffled curses of a young, feminine voice could be heard clearly through the thicket.

Though she wished to use her Gift to know the exact location of the Men quietly arguing, she dared not risk being found out just yet.

If her hesitation meant injuries to her person, it would be worth it to keep her secret another day.

She would not, however, hesitate to throw her body in the way in order to protect one who the Earth beneath her feet recognized as a mere child.

A child who was hurting and afraid.

With a snarl ripping through her chest, Bilbo burst through the gap in twisted trees to come upon a distressing scene.

A Dam, very young in appearance with a sluggishly bleeding nose set under bright brown eyes blown wide in fear, struggled to spit out a gag as she shoved with tied hands and kicked with a single leg at a Man dragging her backwards by disheveled red braids.

The other leg was carefully pulled under her slighter frame in attempt to protect it from further harm. The rip at the knee and smeared bit of blood on the ground spoke of the injury keeping her grounded, but Bilbo could not tell how severe it was from her position.

Emli, upon breaking through the treeline a moment after, unleashed a deafening roar that shot straight from the ground and into Bilbo's Gift.

It responded immediately to the call of one of Mahal's children.

Bilbo didn't allow it to be unleashed, but she heard the order to _protect_ all the same.

With the desire of her Gift rushing through her blood, Bilbo ran forward with only a glance to Emli.

“I will cover the child,” she said swiftly, plucking a dagger from the air and sending it straight back at the Man who'd thrown it at Emli's sudden shout. He dropped to the ground with a guttural scream, clutching at his leg where the blade had buried deeply into the muscle above the knee. “You put that ax to good use!”

“Aye,” Emli growled before sucking in a deep breath.

Bilbo only paid enough attention to the bellowing shouts flowing like a mudslide from Emli's mouth to know she was calling for aide.

Then, she set her entire focus on the struggling Dam doing her best to get out of the largest Man's hold.

She ran between the other Men with little care for the way they tried to grab at her. Rough nails scraped down her arms and bit into the exposed skin on her shoulder, but she ripped away from the harsh hands without feeling the swell of blood as skin was scraped away.

As carefully as she could given their positions, Bilbo collided with the surprisingly small Dam to break her from the strangling hold the sneering Man had adopted at her throat when the girl tried to scream for her sister around the gag.

She drove them both to the ground, contorting her body so that she was covering anything vital on the far too young Dam, and became as still as stone around the one her Gift was shrieking at her to protect at all costs.

From her view on the ground, Bilbo could see Emli had already taken down two of the four remaining Men, but the third was proving to be more skilled. The fourth was not attempting to help his comrade. Instead, he was trying desperately to rip Bilbo from her position to no doubt use her as a shield against the thundering boots swiftly moving towards them.

Bilbo ducked her chin to force the Dam's head further into the protection her body freely offered even as the brute harshly tugged at her braid hard enough to cause pain to bloom on her skull and spots to dance in her eyes.

Still, Bilbo held her position.

The Earth and Stone had spoken.

She was tasked with keeping the youngest sheltered.

The Dwarrow were to handle the rest.

With the Lady's Grace and Father's Blessing, they'd make it in time for Bilbo to avoid being forced to use her Gift to aide Emli.

As another harsh tug caused silver strands to be ripped from her now burning skull and a rough hand mercilessly pressing at her side in attempt to get snake between her stomach and the Dam's shoulder, Bilbo dearly hoped the Dwarrow were as swift as foot as they were of temper.

If not, the Hobbits would be making their escape sooner than planned.

Because none of her kin would risk her if a Dwarf found out what her Gift was.

Not after what happened the last time one did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for Next Chapter:
> 
> -LoSF-
> 
> Frerin froze in his attempt to buck Víli off. The bastard had managed to throw him face down on the ground before sitting on his back to begin a rough lecture on how big of a fool and ass his brother thought him to be acting.
> 
> It was from the position that Frerin was able to clearly sense the cry of stone.
> 
> It spoke a single warning.
> 
> His kin was in trouble.
> 
> Víli had bolted out of the tent before he could say a word, but Frerin was right on his heels with a bellowing order for a stunned Fíli and white-faced Bofur to follow.
> 
> If he had been able to sense the stone's distress so keenly from such a distance, it was hard to know what Víli, being a Dwarf blessed with a truly powerful Stone Sense, heard.
> 
> Judging by Bofur's expression, it was something horrible.
> 
> “It's Memli,” Fíli said as he reached his side. “Bofur confirmed. Glóin isn't far behind.”
> 
> Frerin grimaced at the information.
> 
> Memli had been allowed to join because she was one of the few Dams close enough to her coming of age wishing to make the journey.
> 
> Her eldest sister and father, Emli and Glóin, were also among the company, so it had been approved.
> 
> The young Dam wasn't trained beyond the basics in weaponry due to her Craft, but even the basics was thought to be enough the keep her safe among the company.
> 
> Judging by the murderous roars echoing through the woods from Emli, it seemed that ruling was entirely wrong.
> 
> “Stay beside Bofur,” Frerin ordered softly before pushing his legs faster so that he was running at his brother's right. “Stay calm, Víli. We do not know what has happened.”
> 
> “You do not.” The venom in a usually cheerful voice spoke to him of what occurred more than the stone had.
> 
> “Go to Emli,” he ordered as they neared the sound of a fight. “I will see to Memli.”
> 
> Though Víli looked as if he wished to argue, there was no time. The two had just emerged from behind the trees blocking the Dams from view.
> 
> Frerin disconnected from the rest of the world when the scene before him burned itself into his mind.
> 
> He heard Emli scream in outrage when the Man she'd been engaging kicked dirt and leaves into her face in an attempt to escape them all.
> 
> The familiar release of an arrow from a steady bow registered in his mind.
> 
> Still, Frerin could not gain enough control of his body and emotions to really comprehend what he was hearing.
> 
> Not when his mind was bellowing in rage and horror at what he was seeing .
> 
> The Hobbit Guard, so much more petite and delicate than even the slightest Dwarf under his command, curled around a Dam she'd never met as if a shield of flesh and bone and too much spirit for one body to contain against a grown Man of considerable size and strength.
> 
> She was mountain stone, unmovable and unbendable, in her selfless protection.
> 
> Try as he might, the Man was unable to dislodge her despite the obvious strength he put into yanking at her silver hair. The other hand continuously pawed at her much smaller body in attempt to find a break in her defense so that he could pull her away from the Dam she refused to budge from.
> 
> It was the sight of those movements, those vile actions that struck a memory from long ago with another Hobbit lass, that sent Frerin flying across the small space with an all encompassing need to protect and kill.
> 
> And kill he would.


	8. EIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just wanting to give a WARNING for a possible trigger. A threat of non-consensual physical relations is made against the Hobbits. Just a threat. I wanted you to be prepared if such writing was a trigger or uneasy subject to read for anyone.

-LoSF-

Frerin froze in his attempt to buck Víli off. The bastard had managed to throw him face down on the ground before sitting on his back to begin a rough lecture on how big of a fool and ass his brother thought him to be acting.

It was from the position that Frerin was able to clearly sense the cry of stone.

It spoke a single warning.

His kin was in trouble.

Víli had bolted out of the tent before Frerin could say a word, but Frerin was right on his heels with a bellowing order for a stunned Fíli and white-faced Bofur to follow.

If he had been able to sense the stone's distress so keenly from such a distance, it was hard to know what Víli, being a Dwarf blessed with a truly powerful Stone Sense, heard.

Judging by Bofur's expression, it was something horrible.

“It's Memli,” Fíli said as he reached his side. “Bofur confirmed. Glóin isn't far behind.”

Frerin grimaced at the information.

Memli had been allowed to join because she was one of the few Dams close enough to her coming of age wishing to make the journey.

Her eldest sister and father, Emli and Glóin, were also among the company, so it had been approved.

The young Dam wasn't trained beyond the basics in weaponry due to her Craft, but even the basics was thought to be enough to keep her safe among the company.

Judging by the murderous roars echoing through the woods from Emli, it seemed that ruling was entirely wrong.

“Stay beside Bofur,” Frerin ordered softly before pushing his legs faster so that he was running at his brother's right. “Stay calm, Víli. We do not know what has happened.”

“ _You_ do not.” The venom in a usually cheerful voice spoke to him of what occurred more than the stone had.

“Go to Emli,” he ordered as they neared the sound of a fight. “I will see to Memli.”

Though Víli looked as if he wished to argue, there was no time. The two had just emerged from behind the trees blocking the Dams from view.

Frerin disconnected from the rest of the world when the scene before him burned itself into his mind.

He heard Emli scream in outrage when the Man she'd been engaging kicked dirt and leaves into her face in an attempt to escape them all.

The familiar release of an arrow from a steady bow registered in his mind.

Still, Frerin could not gain enough control of his body and emotions to really comprehend what he was hearing.

Not when his mind was bellowing in rage and horror at what he was _seeing_.

The Hobbit Guard, so much more petite and delicate than even the slightest Dwarf under his command, curled around a Dam she'd never met as if a shield of flesh and bone and too much spirit for one body to contain against a grown Man of considerable size and strength.

She was mountain stone, unmovable and unbendable, in her selfless protection.

Try as he might, the Man was unable to dislodge her despite the obvious strength he put into yanking at her silver hair. The other hand continuously pawed at her much smaller body in attempt to find a break in her defense so that he could pull her away from the Dam she refused to budge from.

It was the sight of those movements, those vile actions that struck a memory from long ago with another Hobbit lass, that sent Frerin flying across the small space with an all encompassing need to _protect_ and _kill_.

And kill he would.

The Man paled at his approach, but he only had enough time to release silver strands before a knife was buried in his throat.

Frerin stood between the women and their assailant, trembling in rage and hatred as he ripped the knife out in the same moment he kicked the body from those meant to be safe under his care.

He was kneeling beside the two, knife balanced on his knee for ready access if needed, before the motion even registered.

“Memli, are you injured?”

At the sound of his voice, pointed ears perked and twitched minutely. The Hobbit Guard glanced around with a considering look, nodded once in satisfaction, and slowly uncurled from the wall of protection her body made for the Dam.

Her silver eyes turned to him, dipped to the knife on his knee, and then to the body crumbled a few feet away. There was something in her gaze he couldn't decipher when she looked back to him, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Her leg is bleeding,” she said while shuffling until she was sitting with her feet carefully tucked under her. Frerin didn't see any major injuries, but he did not miss the way she slowly shifted her head with a wince. Her hair, now free of the usually strict braid, showed the slightest bit of red close to the scalp.

Frerin frowned knowingly.

He knew very well of how hard one would have to pull to rip hair and skin from muscle and bone.

There was no way her skull wasn't tender.

“You are bleeding, too,” Frerin muttered while signaling for Emli, who had paused a step away with trembling hands and quivering lips, to approach. “You need to see a healer.”

The Guard's face did a funny dance of emotions as she blinked at him. Amusement appeared to finally win out over everything else, for the next moment she cracked a toothy grin. It caused his heart to ache at how familiar it looked, but he pushed it away to focus solely on what was happening around him.

It was not the time to be overtaken by memories of _her_.

“I am the Head Healer for the Hobbit Caravan, Dwarf. I am more than capable at tending to such minor injuries.” She seemed entirely amused by his surprise, but buried it quickly while turning to face the two Dams. “May I have your permission to release your binds? I promise to withdraw if my touch becomes unwanted.”

Memli took several long moments to answer. She blinked in astonishment up at the patiently waiting Hobbit before hurriedly jerking her head in permission.

Frerin couldn't blame her for such a reaction.

He hadn't been addressed, but was just as taken aback by the warm, maternal tone that soothed as much as it comforted.

He'd certainly never been spoken to in such a manner by the frosty woman.

“Alright. I'll be quick with these knots, but do not rush your own movements,” she instructed in the same tone, completely ignoring the Dwarrow rushing over to their small circle.

Frerin signed for most of them, not including Glóin, to stay back to give the women space. Though it was only a flicker, Frerin saw a warm rush of gratitude lighten the Guard's silver gaze when she glanced to him.

The sudden burst of pride burning in his chest for both receiving her thanks and being able to help her confused him.

It was odd.

Usually such an emotion only filled him during the rare times he was able to help Dís or Thorin with their work.

Frerin had always sought their approval by doing his best to help them when they allowed it, so he was overjoyed every time he proved successful in his attempts and they expressed their earnest thanks.

He hadn't realized, at least not until the moment silver eyes had softened in appreciation, that he was subconsciously seeking the Hobbit Guard's approval in the same way.

Frerin would rather not think on what that might say about how he was subconsciously viewing the lass.

Víli, the clever bastard, would laugh his ass off if he ever found out.

“Good.” The Guard's voice, soft and gentle the way it had been when she was helping her heat sick kin, pulled him from spiraling thoughts. She'd managed to get the ropes and gag off before helping Memli into a comfortable sitting position without him realizing. “May I have permission to look at your leg?”

“You have it.”

“What for? What are you doing?” Glóin hovered nearly atop the women, restless with fear and unused adrenaline. The Guard didn't demand he move out of the way. She barely even glanced at him, but her expression softened in understanding towards the Dwarf.

“I need to check your daughter's wound to determine if it would be safe to move her to camp for treatment, or if it needs done here.”

“My brother will treat her.”

“Da!” Emli and Memli both looked embarrassed and annoyed at their father's glare aimed at the smaller lass. The Hobbit didn't react.

“He's a healer,” Glóin continued with a warning look at his daughters.

“So is she,” Memli huffed in offense on behalf of the Hobbit. “I'm sure she knows how to treat such a minor wound.”

“Óin is your uncle. He is a Master of his Craft. She is but a mere Hobbit guard.”

“She is a 'mere' nothing,” Memli snapped, barring her teeth in anger. “She saved me from being strangled to death.”

Emli and Glóin both paled. Glóin, staggering at the horror his mind conjured at such a telling, reached out near blindly to grasp at Memli to reassure himself his daughter yet lived.

“I couldn't breathe, Da. I was on the edge of slipping away into the dark when she ripped me from that traitorous Goblin.” The dark glower aimed at her attacker's corpse did not quite hide the fear in her eyes. Frerin regretted killing him so painlessly, but did not have time to think on it as the Hobbit shifted in what appeared to be a natural movement to block the Dam's sight from the dead Man. He hid a smile at the action to not draw attention to her, but was internally pleased she would care for his kin despite his own ill treatment of her.

“Aye. I'd not have found her in time if the Hobbit hadn't taken my concern for Memli seriously and listened to the woods for her. I couldn't make out anything, but she shot right towards them like a hound on a scent. She saved her life, Da.”

Glóin looked between his daughters with eyes a bit too shiny. He turned to the Hobbit woman who had taken advantage of the distraction to take a closer look at Memli's leg. Hunched over as she was, it was easy to see the blood smeared in her silver hair, nail bite at her shoulders, and scrapes down her arms. The proof of her actions decorated her body for all to see.

There was no denying the woman, so much more frail than a Dwarf or Dam, had risked herself for Memli's safety.

Frerin knew the exact moment Glóin realized the truth of what his children said by the way his features twisted into something determined and bullheaded.

Frerin knew by the set of his cousin's jaw what he was about to say.

About to offer.

Thankfully the Hobbit woman spoke before Frerin had to intervene.

There wasn't a single part of him that thought an argument with his cousin would end well if he felt honor bound to offer the lass aide and protection.

If nothing else, Glóin was noble to a fault.

“You can be moved, but we best wrap it before doing so,” she said gently. Either she didn't notice Glóin's sudden frustrated expression, or she was deliberately ignoring it. “Now, you stay still. I just need some cloth to bind it.”

Before anyone realized what she was doing, the Hobbit grabbed the edge of her layered skirts and _ripped_.

Frerin, along with all the Dwarrow present, could only stare in dumbfounded amazement as she began binding the stuttering Dam's leg with her own clothes.

“Your skirt!” Memli finally found her voice.

“It is only cloth,” the Hobbit said soothingly. “I can always acquire more. A leg is a mite more difficult to replace.”

“But...” Memli fell silent with a stricken look towards her father and sister. Both looked on the verge of bursting with emotion, but held themselves back.

“This will hold,” the Guard muttered, hands moving with a quickness that spoke of practice as she wove the ends together in an elaborate knot. “Do you need help getting to your uncle?”

“I've got her.” Glóin swooped down to quickly snatch Memli into his arms. The Dam muttered a low oath at the sudden movement, but a relieved smile pulled at her lips to soften the anger.

“Get her to your Healer,” the Guard said with a kind nod to Memli's quiet thanks.

Emli rocked on her heels, eyes going between the confused Guard and her father's back. Frerin, knowing what was wrong, waved her away.

“Go. I will collect a report when we are done here.”

Emli was gone before he finished speaking, but turned to offer a low bow and her sincere thanks to the slowly standing Hobbit.

“You still need a Healer.” Frerin, who had stood with her, met her glare with one of his own.

“No.”

It was hardly a surprise, but Frerin found himself disappointed to hear the ice back in her tone.

He was, however, surprised by the number of scars decorating the Guard's legs.

The layered skirt, though uneven and frayed by a harsh tear made for the sake of her two young kin, had managed to keep them hidden by hanging a few inches above her ankles.

Now, after ripping the skirt again for the care of a Dwarf rather than Hobbit, the fabric fell unevenly around her knees to reveal scars of different lengths and width along the backs of her thin legs.

One scar in particular looked to have been caused by a severe burn.

Frerin wasn't sure he wanted to know what caused it.

“You are injured,” he said instead of addressing the marks. A Dwarf was always ready to tell the story behind every scar if someone bothered to ask them, but he doubted the Hobbit found the scars appealing and interesting the way Dwarrow did.

It was the last thought that had Frerin glancing quickly to where Víli, Fíli, and Bofur stood.

The older two had made themselves busy by gathering the dead and, to Frerin's shock, one living traitor. They were faced away from Frerin and the Guard, speaking softly and gesturing to the bodies, but the same could not be said about the younger.

Fíli, the stone-headed fool, was fighting a losing battle as he tried and failed to keep his eyes off the Guard. With the way his gaze kept rising to her unbound hair and dropping to her exposed legs, Frerin didn't doubt the idiot would have asked for the story behind her survivor badges had he not been present.

It would have been meant kindly, but received harshly.

Sighing in exasperation and wishing Dís was present to handle her son's foolishness, Frerin put the knife in his belt and began working on the many buckles and ties on his coat.

“I will tend to my wounds myself,” the Guard replied in irritation. “No point in letting one of your soldiers get in trouble for conversing with me, after all.”

“Ah. Still angry.”

Frerin had hoped the adrenaline from the fight calmed her ire towards him, but the cold glint of steel in her eyes suggested otherwise.

If there ever existed a time to regret the temper known to burn hot in those of Durin blood, it occurred barely an hour ago in his tent.

Frerin hadn't meant to accuse her of anything.

He _knew_ she wasn't the type to trade with physical pleasures.

The Man with crooked teeth who suggested such a venture to her face a week prior had ended up missing several after he'd reached out to grasp her braid in an attempt to bring it to chapped lips.

Frerin had been close enough to witness Víli lunging forward the moment grubby fingers snatched the braid off of her slender shoulder, but his eyes hadn't been able to track the speed in which the Guard plowed her tiny fist into the Man's mouth.

It was a memorable sight, so there was no reason for him to suggest the Guard would offer herself to Fíli, using his youth and obvious attraction against him, to gain freedom or anything else.

He wanted to say it had been him being overprotective of his nephew that caused such hate filled words to fall from his lips, but Frerin knew it was a lie.

He'd said those things out of worry for the Guard.

And jealousy of her softness towards his kin, but harshness towards himself.

It was unfair of him to project his past with his long gone companion onto the interactions of the Guard.

She wasn't, for all she looked like her, the same type of person his companion had been.

That woman was wild and utterly free. She lived to the fullest, and did not shy away from any new experience.

Be they physical pleasures or soul filling adventures.

The Guard, in comparison, was reserved and innocent in a way that his companion had never been.

She wouldn't make the mistakes his friend had.

He didn't have to warn her off of certain behavior the way he used to with the other Hobbit lass.

Frerin knew this, but those old fears and memories had taken over when Víli informed him the Guard was bringing food to Fíli before coming over to discuss the maps.

He'd instantly been reminded of a dark-haired Hobbit with the same thick curls and face shape as the Guard who brought meals to a different soldier under his command over half a century ago.

She was always making him wait as she catered to the one she harbored ever growing feelings towards.

The last time she'd done so, the last time he allowed her to accompany him on scouting missions, it had nearly gotten them both killed.

The ghost memory was still stuck in his head when the Hobbit Guard walked in with Víli at her back.

His brother's presence should have been enough to shake the memory away, but the Guard looked so painfully similar to his own dearly missed Hobbit that he'd opened his mouth with the same angry hurt he always felt when she was up to her foolishness and causing him to delay in his tasks once again.

Though it was a familiar argument, it had not been same Hobbit.

It was the ice in her tone that snapped him back.

His Hobbit lass was fire and passion.

In anger, her voice swelled like a raging blaze hellbent on consuming all.

She would be loud, explosive, and unrefined.

The Guard was _nothing_ like her.

But Frerin felt her wrath more keenly than he ever felt his friend's.

In the presence of his companion's anger, Frerin only ever felt his own rage.

In the Guard's, however, he felt shame.

It was becoming an unwanted familiarity whenever he thought of their interactions.

And though Frerin wished to remedy that, he wasn't sure he'd be able to until he stopped throwing the past at her.

She certainly deserved better than to be held accountable for the faults of another.

“Yes, I'm _still angry_.” Frerin winced at her tone. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. “You had no right to–”

The lass spluttered as he tossed his leather coat over her head. He'd planned on carefully handing it over as a peace offering, but he needed to stop her from mentioning anything said earlier.

If Fíli overheard her, he'd have several daggers in _uncomfortable_ places Frerin wouldn't be able to reach without help.

He had no doubt Víli wouldn't lift a finger to help him.

“I cannot force you to see my best Healer, but I will insist you take this to wear as you go to your kin. They've been returned to their tent. One of my soldiers had extra hands escort them around so that the younger of your kin wouldn't be forced to see the violence.”

The lass froze with the coat still tangled around her, but she carefully pushed the worn leather aside enough to peek at him.

Once more he was hit with a familiar warmth at the flicker of gratitude in her eyes.

It was both a relief and disappointment to see it hidden away so quickly.

“Very well,” she said with a resigned sigh. “It is for the best.”

It took her a moment to swing his traveling coat around so that it circled her shoulders. It was as she adjusted it, pulling it forward with scarred, bloodstained hands so much smaller and delicate than his own that Frerin realized just how tiny the Hobbit Guard was.

It had been easy to think of the grown lass as tall and athletic when compared to her Hobbit kin, but she was still markedly shorter and thinner than a Dwarf.

She neither had the roundness of a Hobbit, or the stockiness of a Dwarf.

She was somewhat floating between the two.

The coat was proof enough. Though it sat snug on his shoulders and hugged his frame comfortably, it swallowed her utterly and hung loosely around her. The bottom fell just above his knees, but swayed around her ankles.

Frerin was happy to see it would keep her safe from the ugly leers of foul Men, but it caused worry to once again gnaw at his stomach.

The Guard was too small.

Too thin.

A Hobbit wasn't meant to be so lean.

And yet she was.

“Víli mentioned something about fishing,” Frerin said slowly in effort to cover his staring. He noticed his brother had moved forward at the sound of his name, but didn't attempt to usher him away. He'd known Víli kept an eye on the lass since stepping into the clearing, and he would not be kept from checking on his charge a moment longer with the area being secured. “I had meant to speak with you tonight about it after going over maps.”

“Aye. Hobbit style,” a sly grin stretched her lips, reminding him so fiercely of Nori for a moment that he saw his friend's face in place of the mysterious Guard. “I'd not recommend it for tonight, but I can gather enough quickly the next time we camp near the water.”

Frerin nodded before looking to Víli who stopped in front of the Hobbit. He looked utterly stricken by the blood in her hair, but avoided mentioning it.

“You did good,” he said with clear pride in his voice. “Emli says you took down the one still breathing before she'd even sounded the alarm.”

She shrugged. “He sent me a dagger. I was only returning it.” Frerin barely managed to hide a grin at the clearly unrepentant expression. Víli hid nothing. He was smiling with proud amusement at the lass in the same way he did when Kíli took down a deer for the first time. “I figured Emli would kill the other Men. I try to leave one alive if I have questions. Answers decide how long they remain that way.” Another dismissive shrug was followed by Víli's uproarious laughter.

“Good way to do things.” He glanced to Frerin with a warning look. Frerin understood without a thing being said. Víli was telling him he hadn't forgotten or forgiven him for his words earlier. He hadn't expected anything else. “I will find you something else to wear. You can't stay in that torn dress with filth like this around.”

The Guard frowned with a considerate look. She glanced at the bodies lined up beside the one living Man. A look of uncertainty darkened her features, but her voice was clear and firm when she spoke.

“The Men who attacked tonight are the ones who have come from the town ruled by a Master?” Frerin, in the same moment as Víli, reared back at the unexpected question. She rolled her eyes at their surprise. “You may have ordered the Dwarrow to hide beads and names, but the Men still show proof of who they pay allegiance to. Those who follow a Master do not have the symbols woven into their coats like those who bow to a Man King do.”

It took only a moment of thought to realize she was right.

The Men under King Bard of Dale wore a patch that marked them as members of Dale's Guard. The placement and coloring spoke of the position, but the symbols were all the same.

Frerin hadn't though to ask the Men to hide the symbols, because he hadn't considered the possibility of a Hobbit realizing what the symbols were.

Or that there was a division between the Men.

“Those under rule of the King have not offered my kin insult, but those under the Master appear to wish us harm,” she continued. “I think you'll find the Men hadn't attacked the child for any other reason than getting her out of the way to get to my kin. They knew they would have very little protection, after all.”

“Two older Dams are stationed with your kin while bathing,” Víli said gently. “I told you this earlier.”

“Yes, but it wouldn't be enough. I do not think the Men thought to challenge your shield-sisters, but it would be impossible to protect all the women and children with only two. Thrown daggers and arrows work quickly on unsuspecting targets. And they'd only need to harm a single one for a riot to begin.”

“A riot?”

The Hobbit Guard smiled, but it was not like the kind ones directed at her kin. Or the hidden ones that twitched at the edge of her mouth when the Dwarf she was talking to was amusing her despite her wishes.

No, that smile was all teeth and predatory hunger.

It was the smile Death greeted his newest visitor with before pulling them into his lifeless home.

“A single cry of warning is all it will take, Dwarf. Just one call to aide from those I hold dear, and these chains will not be able to hold me,” she warned, tone ominous and foreboding like the quiet air before battle. “I will watch life fade from all those who do harm to the Hobbits. You will not stop me.”

Frerin didn't shiver at the gleaming blade of her eyes, or the factual way she spoke of killing those who wronged her people.

But it was a close thing.

Instead of flinching back the way his body wished to, Frerin forced himself to nod at the lass who held herself in the same way both Dwalin and Nori did when sizing someone up for a fight.

At ease and seemingly relaxed, but coiled and ready to plunge a dagger into the nearest threat if needed.

Frerin had fallen for that look many times during training sessions.

He'd not fall for it with the Hobbit Guard.

“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Frerin replied gently. His eyes moved from her to the other two Dwarrow in the clearing. He wasn't surprised to see Fíli looking at the Hobbit with concern and interest. Bofur looked part amused and part irritated with the young Dwarf's inattention. Frerin could relate. “Bofur will escort you back to your tent. Are you certain you do not need someone to look after your wounds?”

“I'm sure.”

“Very well. He,” Frerin jerked his chin to Víli, “will bring you clothes later tonight. A Dam can help him go through the Hobbit packs to find a suitable outfit.”

Though he thought such a thing would soothe her, it seemed to do the opposite.

It was a quick thing. He'd have missed it if he so much as blinked or glanced away.

But he hadn't, so the sudden panic and fear in her eyes at the mention of the packs was noticed.

And it set off every warning bell of his battle tested instincts.

“There is no need for that. Bring a needle and thread. I can have something fixed by tonight.” The Guard sounded perfectly calm, but the pulse at her throat was a bit too fast.

_She's afraid of us looking in the packs_ , Frerin realized with a sudden shot of coldness down his spine.

“That won't be a problem,” Víli said before Frerin could answer. He was giving Frerin a hard look that clearly told him to keep his mouth shut. “I'm sure there is some extra fabric around that may help, too.”

The Hobbit smiled a little too warmly with a touch of relief at Víli.

That was enough for Frerin to be suspicious.

“Very well. Bofur.” Frerin dipped his head to the Dwarf patiently waiting nearby. “See her to the Hobbit tent. Send Glóin to me after.”

Bofur nodded and gestured with a kind smile to the Hobbit. The two were nearly past the twisted trees they'd entered the small clearing at when the Hobbit suddenly stopped. She looked back at Frerin, a flash of hesitancy in her expression, but gathered herself quickly to spear him with an earnest look.

“I ask that you take care of that dagger. It's more than just a weapon to me. I plan on getting it back, so do not damage it.”

Frerin glanced at the dagger tucked into his belt. It was only then that he realized it was not one of his.

Bofur and the Hobbit were gone before he could reply.

“It's the dagger she tossed at you when we captured the Hobbits,” Víli said while looking to the weapon. “It's obviously made for a Hobbit. Doesn't look to be made by a Dwarf, but is surprisingly good quality. Good enough to be mistaken.”

“Perhaps made by one of the Hobbits trained to be smiths,” Frerin commented mildly. He would look closer at the weapon later when he cleaned it. If it truly was an item of importance to the hardened Hobbit, he'd take care of it as if it were one of Fundin's knives. First, he had a traitor to see to.

“So,” Frerin growled while standing over the downed Man. He was pale and breathing heavily, but not dead. Not yet. “You were foolish enough to harm a Dam. Care to share what brought on such insanity?”

The Man sneered and reared his head back as if to spit, but a Dwarven boot driving heel first into the wound on his leg had him screaming instead.

Frerin shot a surprised look at Fíli, but the Young Prince of Erebor was glaring down at the Man with zero traces of empathy or regret. His expression was cold, ruthless, and far more like Thorin's than he'd ever seen it to be.

“Do not offer more insult to my kin than you have already,” Fíli spoke calmly, but there was no mistaking the controlled rage slithering just behind that sliver of restraint. The Man fell silent with a look of fear. “I would answer the one you swore to heed before making this journey. Now.” The creaking of bone as Fíli's foot pressed more firmly into the knee of the downed Man was heard over the pained groaning.

“Fíli,” Víli warned softly.

The Young Prince lessened the pressure, but did not remove his boot.

“Answer, traitor.”

“We hadn't planned on hurting her! Just needed to move her out of the way.”

“Yet she was injured,” Frerin hissed with little care for the way it caused the Man to tremble with gasping breaths. “My cousin's daughter is in need of medical treatment because of you and your friends. You're the only one left alive, so you will be answering my questions.”

The Man looked behind Frerin at the sound of Dwarven boots stomping the ground. He paled, shrinking back as far as he could, and began shaking his head rapidly while incoherent sounds fell from trembling lips.

Frerin didn't need to turn around to know Glóin was approaching.

An enraged Dwarf parent coming to claim justice against their child's assailant could cause even the mightiest to tremble.

An honorless coward didn't have a chance at standing firm in the face of such bloodlust.

“I didn't want her! The Hobbit women was all I wanted. Not the bearded lady. Just a-a-a little fun with the little women! Or, well, more. Only a little!” Suddenly the Man was far more afraid of Fíli than the enraged father. Frerin couldn't blame him. Not when Fíli released a beastly snarl that reverberated through the trees like thunder.

“You sought to harm them?”

“N-no! I mean, no real harm? We'd have had fun! Just to make enough racket to bring Silver running!”

“What?” Frerin wasn't sure if the man shrieked from the sudden pressure on his wound, or from the murderous look twisting his nephew's features.

“The Silver Hobbit,” he answered around a scream of pain. “Just wanted her!”

“Why,” Frerin asked when Fíli's rage stole his voice.

“Well,” the Man stuttered, looking to Fíli in growing terror, “she's the one keeping the Hobbits out of reach. Knocked the damn teeth out one of us. Broke the nose of another. We're going out of our way to escort them to safety when it was you Dwarfs who ran them off. Why shouldn't we get a little bit of fun for our troubles? Plenty of women to share a tumble with. One or two at hand is enough to pay for our services.”

Víli, thank Mahal, had been quick enough to stop Fíli from outright killing the filth. The dagger, however, he hadn't managed to fully stop.

The shriek of pain when the blade pierced the Man's shoulder was met with no empathy or concern. Bastard had been lucky Víli's intervening had stopped it from plunging into his throat.

As Víli dragged a near snarling Fíli off, Frerin loomed over the Man with a sneer. He ripped the dagger out, gut churning in satisfaction at the sound of pain and fear shredding the Man's throat, and stepped aside enough to let Glóin stand over his daughter's attacker.

“They owe _nothing_ ,” Frerin snarled. “You wished to snatch a woman for personal pleasures? Without her consent!”

“S-she'd have enjoyed it. They owe us.”

Only Glóin's large paw enclosing his wrist stopped Frerin from burying the dagger right back where he'd ripped it from.

Though it a vast amount of effort he hadn't known himself capable of, Frerin was able to pull his mind to focus and lock down his emotions by reminding himself Glóin had the right to the Man's life. _Not_ him.

Even if he did want to kill him.

“You wished to draw the Hobbit Guard out. To what? She'd have come running as you said. Running to her distressed kin. Why bring her near if you planned on stealing a woman away?”

The Man stayed silent, eyes blown wide in fear as they glanced to the side at a suddenly enraged Fíli. Víli barely managed to keep the lad held back.

“You were going to hold her kin hostage to make her submit! You–” The explosive roars in the Dwarven tongue carried insults the Man couldn't understand, but the dark menace snapping in the tone as hot as forge fire was unmistaken.

“I would not–”

“Do not dare lie,” Fíli snarled, standing still but trembling in anger. “I will know. The Stone has already spoken to me of your ill intentions. You made the plan here, hours before while camp was made, to kidnap a young Female Hobbit to use as bait to make the Hobbit Guard submit without making a scene. You thought you'd be able to make her keep it a secret if her kin was in danger.”

Frerin did not visibly react, but inside he had gone cold.

He did not doubt Fíli for a moment.

All Dwarrow knew the Young Prince of Erebor and the Youngest Prince of Erebor both were born with a rare form of Stone Sense.

Where Víli and Bofur had a strong connection with the Stone to hear the warnings the land whispered, Fíli held a different connection.

The Stone told him all that happened upon it if the land felt the boy needed to know.

Sometimes, if Fíli asked, the Stone would happily inform him of everything that occurred upon it.

Secret conversations and acts would be revealed by the Stone to the one who was Blessed by Mahal to speak with it.

The Stone would reveal the way a person felt through the vibrations of their soul stepping across the land, as well as the very movements the person made.

If the Stone was revealing what occurred earlier to Fíli now that he was standing upon the spot the acts occurred, it was as good as a spoken confession.

The Man, even if had he not attacked Memli, would die for such crimes.

By the sudden trembling and wild shaking of his head, it seemed to Man realized this.

“No, no, no. Just a bit of fun! We'd all enjoy it. You want her, too,” he said, looked wildly at Frerin who revved back in sickened offense.

“What?”

“You watch her. Have to know she's beautiful. Beautiful, but mouthy. Needs to know her place, right? She defies _you_ , so you must get it! You understand. She just needs to learn her place in the company of her betters. Of Men. Such a small, beautiful woman won't take much. A few rolls with a Man will keep her in place. Would only help the company in the end. You can even give her a go. Heard you Dwarfs run hot like them fires you build on. A night under a Dwarf like yourself would snuff that defiance right out.”

The Man's eyes were glinting with a manic light Frerin saw in many Men and Dwarrow who had gone mad after being pushed too far.

He saw it, but didn't care.

Couldn't even focus on it.

Not with the sudden sense of revulsion rolling in his stomach.

Frerin would not, _could_ not, even begin to imagine the Hobbit lass in such a way.

His mind shrank away in disgust and outrage at the mere suggestion.

“She is a _child_!” The roar ripped through his throat in sheer outrage at lunacy the madman suggested. It was out and echoing through the trees before his mind could really comprehend what his mouth was saying.

A stone fell to sit heavily in his stomach as realization sank into his bones.

His mind did not see the of age Hobbit as a woman among her people.

Though he'd been forcing himself to try and see her as a grown Hobbit woman since meeting her, the thought never settled right.

He'd assumed it had to do with his old friend, but that was only partly correct.

Only half of a whispered thought.

And it was because the thoughts just out of reach, the dawning comprehension just waiting to be pulled into the light, already knew what his aware mind did not that Frerin could not see the Guard as her own woman separate from the Hobbit lass he knew.

Because she was her own woman.

She was a child still coming into womanhood.

A child who everyone claimed to be of fifty years.

Who everyone claimed to be an _adult_ of fifty years.

But his heart and mind settled with ringing certainty that the Hobbit Guard was not of age.

And if a fifty years grown Hobbit was not of age, it was because she was not a Hobbit.

At least not fully.

Frerin choked down a breath as the realization fell hard over his shoulders.

Something settled firmly into place as the thought changed and rebuilt the image of the Hobbit Guard from a cold woman mistrustful of the world into a wary child still finding herself in it.

Her smaller body, but taller height.

Enhanced speed and deceptive strength.

Traits of the Durin bloodline and the face of a Hobbit lass who was once the companion of a Dwarven Prince.

The words his friend said the last time he saw her outside the gates of Erebor.

It all came crashing into him with such clarity that he missed whatever it was the Man was screaming.

Frerin couldn't breathe.

Couldn't focus.

Not on anything but _her_.

It was not his old companion that now filled his mind when he singularly thought the word.

Not when his head and heart no longer saw the old companion as the main female in his life.

No.

The _her_ would forever be the Guard, now.

He didn't need proof of his thoughts.

His soul, now that his mind had come to realize the truth of it, recognized the pull towards the child of his former Blessed Bond.

He hadn't realized it sooner because the bond had been severed fifty years ago when she fled Erebor.

Frerin used to prod at the bond to see if he could track her, but the connection they shared went from feeling as if a wall stood between them to being _nothing_.

Nothing but a gaping expanse of space where something was missing.

It was then that he knew she had died.

And fifty years after she'd shattered their bond, it seemed like her daughter had found her way into his life.

Frerin wasn't sure what to do.

He had known for years that she was gone.

Had been the one to break her Dwarf once again by telling him she was dead.

And now, _now_ , Frerin wasn't sure he could tell that prideful Dwarf who'd clung to life only by the sheer stubborn will of his Durin kin that she'd left behind a daughter.

A daughter that he himself had abducted and was bringing back to the mountain.

Frerin had no doubt he'd be killed.

Either his cousin would kill him thinking it was a poor joke, or kill him for having cost him fifty years with his daughter.

For having cost him a chance to protect his wife and child.

Worse was the lack of proof.

Frerin knew his word would not be enough. It hadn't been for that particular Dwarf or his brother in a very long time.

His mistake in handling his old Bond had cost him more than just her friendship.

It had cost him the trust of many of his kin.

Frerin could carry those mistakes.

He wasn't sure he had the strength to carry knowing he was the reason the Hobbit Guard grew up without a father.

The thought stuttered his entire being to a halt.

A sickening realization filled Frerin as the heavy silence in the clearing began to seep into his consciousness.

Frerin had no way of knowing if the Guard knew the truth of her birth.

He wasn't in a position to tell her.

She'd never believe him even if he did.

More than that, Frerin was painfully aware that she may not even know who her Dwarven father way.

He'd not blame his friend if she kept the truth hidden.

He hadn't given her a choice.

He'd failed her.

He'd failed his cousin.

And now, with the knowledge of her identity being recognized by his soul, Frerin knew he'd failed their daughter.

He wouldn't, could _not_ , do so any longer.

Not again.

“Frerin,” Glóin questioned gently with a worried frown. His hand was gripping him hard at the shoulder, but Frerin barely felt it.

“I will hear no more from this filth,” Frerin seethed. His fury was coming back anew with an explosive force now that he knew the Men were lusting after one he had a tentative connection to. In the way of Blessed Bonds, the Guard was as good as his godchild. He'd not anyone touch her. Not ever again. “Glóin, have your justice as you see fit. I need to speak to Nori.”

Frerin turned, eyes near black with rage as he walked towards his other kin. Víli met his gaze and tensed.

That alone spoke of how unhinged he must look.

“Víli, gather clothes for the Hobbit Guard. Whatever she needs, you have. Make sure she isn't left exposed for any filth to see. Fíli, take a pot to the river and fill it with water. Bring it to the Hobbit tent so that the Guard may wash the blood from her hair and skin. Both of you wait near the tent for anything else she may need. Once I speak to Nori, I will see to Memli and Emli.”

Fíli was gone after swiftly taking back his dagger.

The lad still looked ready to slit the bastards throat himself, but luckily had himself under control enough to acknowledge Glóin had the right to decide the Man's fate.

Víli hesitated, searching Frerin's face with concerned eyes, but nodded and stepped away without a word.

Frerin quickly followed.

He barked out orders to the Dwarrow stationed at the edge of the treeline. They'd take care of the bodies after Glóin was done.

The walk through camp was a haze of colors and Dwarven rumbles.

By the time Frerin reached his tent, he had jst barely managed to get himself under control enough to hold a conversation.

Good thing, too.

Because Nori was already waiting.

“I moved the 'obbits safely to the tent. All safe. Thain-Heir is, too. Bit agitated tonight,” he said slowly, never taking his eyes off Frerin. “Lookin' to be a theme tonight. How bad?”

“You were right. The Men are trying to attack the Hobbits, but their main goal is to get to the Guard.” The mere thought of a single one of those foul creatures touching any of the Hobbits, let alone the daughter of his Blessed Bond and cousin, set his blood boiling. “More focused on her being a conquest than a threat,” he sneered, throwing his weapons down beside his bed. The dagger, the one important to the Guard, however, was carefully removed and sat gently atop the barrel the Hobbit had overturned earlier.

Nori hummed. He looked thoughtful.

Frerin was instantly on the defensive.

Proving to be the best Spy-Master Erebor had ever had, Nori spoke the words he'd been fearing to hear.

“So, ye figured it out, aye? Who our Hobbit Guard is?”

Frerin jerked back as if struck. Eyes wide and heart pounding, he clenched his teeth against the denial that wanted to rip from his throat.

It would do no good to lie.

Nori always knew.

“You knew.”

“Aye,” Nori nodded, standing slowly from the box he'd used as a chair. “Took a few days, but I figured it out.”

“And you didn't tell me your suspicions?”

“Thought ye'd 'ave realized quicker. Would 'ave, if ye weren't so used to ignorin' yer bond.”

Frerin flinched, and Nori was on him in a blink. The blow to his chin wasn't a surprise, but the power packed into it was. It was easy to forget Nori carried some of the notorious strength of Ri until the bastard came in swinging.

“I'm warning ye,” he began coldly, crouched beside Frerin's downed body with a scowl dark enough to send Orcs running, “if ye do any damn thing to hurt tha' lass, I will kill ye. Cousin or not, I'll stick a knife in ye fer tha' wee lass. I don't think it wise to tell 'er secret without 'er sayin' so 'erself. We will wait. The lass has the right to either find or tell 'er own secrets. Ye won't say a word to nobody.”

Frerin froze, looking at Nori in shock.

“Why? We are all her kin. How can you–”

“Ye forget the origins of the Line o' Ri, Prince. It was yer own bloody ancestors tha' damn near killed off tha' Bloodline. Do nah forget lil' Ori, Dori, Dwalin, Balin, 'nd I would no' be 'ere if the king o' old 'ad gotten his way. Dams o' Ri, the Sisters Three themselves, bore us all. She is a grand-daughter and grand-niece to the Ri Sisters Three. Lass carries a bit o' all 'em in her image. Before Erebor's Spy-Master, I am the Guardian o' Ri. I protect me kin. Dams above all. Do nah test me, Frerin. I'd miss ye, but I'd nah hesitate to gut ye.”

Frerin, stunned and shaken by the savage snarl on his most trusted friend's face, nodded in silence. Nori returned the gesture, relaxed his expression, and hauled Frerin to his feet.

“The lass 'as the right to decide for 'erself if she wants 'er da' in 'er life. We 'ave not been 'round to care for her. Her ma' 'as been dead for decades. Lass 'as been carin' for 'erself this long. We 'ave no right to take over now. Not after runnin' her ma' out o' the mountain. Pregnant an' unwed at tha',” Nori reminded with a cold look.

Though Frerin's heart twisted and screeched at keeping such a thing from her father, he nodded his understanding.

Just as Nori knew, Frerin did, too.

A Dwarf didn't have the right to a woman's child just because he helped create that life.

Not when there had been not even a courting contract between the two.

“We will keep 'er secret. As it is, it will be safer to let 'er reveal 'erself.”

Again, Nori was right.

If Frerin returned with claims of kinship with a Hobbit on his tongue, things would only become more tense within the mountain.

No, the Hobbit lass had to be the one to step forward.

She had to be the one to claim her kin.

If she didn't, well, perhaps she'd remain safe from the curse befalling the mountain.

“We will protect her,” Frerin said after a few moments of silence. He looked to Nori, Durin blue eyes burning with conviction, and gave him the only order that truly mattered to him. “Keep watch over her. Find out anything you can about her. And if anyone so much as scratches her, you have the permission of the Royal Family of Erebor to end them.”

“Aye. As ye command, my Prince. I will see it done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview of next chapter.
> 
> -LoSF-
> 
> As he watched his kin rush about to line up along the river, Flambard couldn't help but grin. Not when the Dwarrow and Men were looking at them in dumbfounded curiosity as the Hobbits with the best aim crowded the river with small pebbles at the ready and wide smiles on their lips.
> 
> Bilbo, bless her young heart, was calling orders to their kin with barely restrained excitement in her eyes. The lass had been waiting for this day for nearly two weeks, so none of the Hobbits dared to tease her.
> 
> Not after the hellish two weeks she'd endured after stopping the attack on the Dam.
> 
> To say he had been upset when his dear cousin had been returned to the tent bloodied, disheveled, and missing half her skirt could only be called a grievous understatement.
> 
> Flambard had been livid.
> 
> So much so that his cousin had jumped in front of him to stop him from bodily harming the Archer when he returned with clothes.
> 
> The two women who watched over his female kin while they bathed had came with him to unchain Bilbo so that she may wash and change in the back of the tent.
> 
> The Hobbits had all formed a protective circle around Bilbo, the two Dams, and two of the older Hobbit women in the group who made sure Bilbo wouldn't be harmed by the Dams. They'd given them their backs and glared in outrage at the two Dwarrow standing inside the tent.
> 
> Both the Archer and the Little Prince had sat on the dirt floor and remained as still as stone, never trying to glance at the exposed female in the back, and spoke quietly in Common to each other as they waited for the Dams.
> 
> Bilbo had finished quickly and stepped forward, shackles adorning her once more, to ask the Archer on the condition of the young female who had been attacked.
> 
> Flambard had stayed at his cousin's side as she spoke to the Archer. He'd kept an eye on the older Dams who wore expressions of concern, but they said nothing.
> 
> They'd all left soon enough, and Bilbo quietly gave him the whole story at that point.
> 
> He had hoped nothing more would happen, but it seemed the event was only the beginning.
> 
> The very next day one of the campfires exploded when a small group of Hobbits were walking by. Embers had set the trousers of one lad aflame. Bilbo was upon him in almost the same moment it happened, having heard the warning of the Green Lady of something evil looking to harm a Hobbit, and put the fire out.
> 
> It was one thing after another from then on.
> 
> A Dwarven pony nearly trampled one of the younger Hobbits. Bilbo had shouted a warning and dove to bodily protect the small lass, but a sudden knife shooting from the shadows and burying itself into the heart of the pony had kept both from harm.
> 
> A tree nearly fell on a Hobbit wagon the next day. Had it not been for Bilbo yelling for the wagon driver, the ones in the back would have been crushed. Thankfully, Glóin managed to maneuver out of the way in time.
> 
> An accident with falling barrels, collapsing boxes, a misfired arrow, a tipped pot of boiling stew, and far more dangerous situations kept happening as the days went on.
> 
> Bilbo was always there to quickly protect the Hobbits with the ever loyal Archer at her back, but it was becoming obvious even to the most oblivious of Hobbits that someone was trying to harm them.
> 
> And Bilbo, always protective and at the ready, made sure to keep that from happening.
> 
> Even though it costs her greatly, Flambard thought with a barely concealed grimace as the sickening stench of burning flesh and metallic taste of blood on his lips rushed to the front of his thoughts to remind him of just how far she was willing to go for them.
> 
> Of how much she was willing to sacrifice for them.


	9. NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! WARNING ahead of an assault against a Hobbit lass. The attack is not written out, but is addressed. She is shaken up, but otherwise okay. Please be warned if this is a trigger for anyone. It is just mentioned, but will be revealed more next chapter.

-LoSF-

As he watched his kin rush about to line up along the river, Flambard couldn't help but grin. Not when the Dwarrow and Men were looking at them in dumbfounded curiosity as the Hobbits with the best aim crowded the river with small pebbles at the ready and wide smiles on their lips.

Bilbo, bless her young heart, was calling orders to their kin with barely restrained excitement in her eyes. The lass had been waiting for this day for nearly two weeks, so none of the Hobbits dared to tease her.

Not after the hellish two weeks she'd endured after stopping the attack on the Dam.

To say he had been upset when his dear cousin had been returned to the tent bloodied, disheveled, and missing half her skirt could only be called a grievous understatement.

Flambard had been livid.

So much so that his cousin had jumped in front of him to stop him from bodily harming the Archer when he returned with clothes.

The two women who watched over his female kin while they bathed had came with him to unchain her so that she may wash and change in the back of the tent.

The Hobbits had all formed a protective circle around Bilbo, the two Dams, and two of the older Hobbit women in the group who made sure Bilbo wouldn't be harmed by the Dams. They'd given them their backs and glared in outrage at the two Dwarrow standing inside the tent.

Both the Archer and the Little Prince had sat on the dirt floor and remained as still as stone, never trying to glance at the exposed female in the back, and spoke quietly in Common to each other as they waited for the Dams.

Bilbo had finished quickly and stepped forward, shackles adorning her once more, to ask the Archer on the condition of the young female who had been attacked.

Flambard had stayed at his cousin's side as she spoke to the Archer. He'd kept an eye on the older Dams who wore expressions of concern, but they said nothing.

They'd all left soon enough, and Bilbo quietly gave him the whole story at that point.

He had hoped nothing more would happen, but it seemed the event was only the beginning.

The very next day one of the campfires exploded when a small group of Hobbits were walking by. Embers had set the trousers of one lad aflame. Bilbo had been upon him in almost the same moment it happened, having heard the warning of the Green Lady of something evil looking to harm a Hobbit, and put the fire out.

It was one thing after another from then on.

A Dwarven pony nearly trampled one of the younger Hobbits. Bilbo had shouted a warning and dove to bodily protect the small lass, but a sudden knife shooting from the shadows and burying itself into the heart of the pony had kept any from harm.

A tree nearly fell on a Hobbit wagon the next day. Had it not been for Bilbo yelling for the wagon driver, they ones in the back would have been crushed. Thankfully, Glóin managed to maneuver out of the way in time.

An accident with falling barrels, collapsing boxes, a misfired arrow, a tipped pot of boiling stew, and far more dangerous situations kept happening as the days went on.

Bilbo was always there to quickly protect the Hobbits with the ever loyal Archer at her back, but it was becoming obvious even to the most oblivious of Hobbits that someone was trying to harm them.

And Bilbo, always protective and at the ready, made sure to keep that from happening.

_Even though it costs her greatly_ , Flambard thought with a barely concealed grimace as the sickening stench of burning flesh and metallic taste of blood on his lips rushed to the front of his thoughts to remind him of just how far she was willing to go for them.

Of how much she was willing to sacrifice for them.

“Are you alright?” The Young Dwarf, rather the younger of the Durin Princes within the company, stepped to Flambard's side easily. The Dwarf had grown comfortable around him over the weeks, and no longer shied away from conversation. It was both a promising and disappointing change. Flambard was happy to see the Dwarf coming into his own, but he dearly missed teasing the Dwarf when the shyer aspects of his personality presented themselves.

“Aye,” Flambard said with an easy grin, tucking away the unpleasant memories of the past in the same place he kept the crippling grief that was the cause of those very memories. “Just deep in thought, but I have plenty of time for that later. Now, what brings you here? Come to watch?”

The boy looked on with a furrowed brow, but smiled warmly as his blue eyes trailed his cousin's graceful steps.

Flambard didn't bother to hide his amused snort.

The lad had given up entirely on trying to keep his stares subtle since the attack on the Dam.

Ever since the two Dams brought new clothes for his cousin to wear, the lad hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her.

Despite how serious the situation had been, Flambard clearly remembered choking out a wheeze after strangling laughter into silence before it could leave his throat at the look upon the boy's face when Bilbo had stepped through the crowd in a simple purple and silver Dwarven traveling dress.

Flambard was certain he'd looked at his dearly missed wife the first time he'd laid eyes on her the same way.

All burning pride, adoring admiration, and besotted devotion swirling in eyes blown wide in surprise and delight.

It was the look of a boy ensnared by his love.

The Prince wore such a look well.

And without a shred of embarrassment.

Flambard could admit that he admired the boy's grace in handling the teasing of all those near.

He'd not batted an eye when the Archer scoffed and elbowed the boy to make him stop staring.

Hadn't done a bit of good.

Not when silver eyes met blue and a small smile softened a rounded face.

The Young Prince practically _glowed_ in pride for being the one to receive one of her rare smiles.

Flambard hadn't been the only Hobbit to groan in dismay at the besotted and oblivious pair the two made.

It would be a long time before his cousin clued in on her budding feelings for the boy.

And longer still before she decided what to do about them.

Thankfully, the Dwarven Prince didn't seem to mind.

“I'm curious about what is so different between how Men fish and how Hobbits fish,” he answered after Bilbo had disappeared from view when she stepped into a crowd of Hobbits. The Archer was still visible within the crowd, being well over a head taller than the gathered Hobbits, and staring at the Young Prince with a look of amused exasperation.

Flambard understood the Archer's feelings well.

“You will have to wait and see. Did your leader agree to let her use the chains?”

“Aye. She asked for a specific set that had been taken from a wagon. Thin chains with a small ring at one end and a larger at the other that has round ornaments of some sort attached. A Dwarf has been keeping hold of it. He'd been curious about what it was, but handed it over immediately when asked for it,” he explained.

“It's my cousin's tool.” The lad whipped his head around to pin Flambard with a look of boyish curiosity. He couldn't help but chuckle. “Looks odd, but it is a magnificent design. Her father, a true genius when it came to anything he set his mind to make, designed it specfically for her. Other Hobbits have tried to use it, but none of us can quite get the movements down to get the speed and strength needed to make it work.”

“Movements,” he echoed with a mixed look of confusion and fascination.

Flambard grinned brightly at his Dwarven friend. “You'll see soon enough. Get ready. She's about to start.”

Flambard hurried to his spot while the lad fell back to stand beside Frerin.

Everyone looked to Bilbo as she gently tugged on the Archer's tunic sleeve to get him to stand where she wanted. He moved willingly with a curious but earnest look in his eyes.

The Dwarf had been recruited to help because of his bow. The only thing he needed to do was shoot an arrow with a rope attached across the stream into the low bark of a tree. The other end of the rope would be tied off to the water filled barrel that sat directly behind the Dwarf.

Flambard gave a hum of appreciation when the Dwarf fluidly shot an arrow and tied off the rope as instructed. He wore a grin, but it wasn't a smug one. Only a proud one as his cousin spoke quietly to him.

He couldn't find fault in it. Every Hobbit he knew nearly glowed with the same feeling when Bilbo praised them.

It seemed the Dwarf felt the same when receiving Bilbo's hard-earned acknowledgment.

“ _Ready!_ ” Bilbo's bark of Hobbitish got an instant reaction from the excited Hobbits.

The ones who'd been bouncing in place and chatting loudly only a moment before now stood silent and still. They faced the river, palming a pebble in their throwing arm, and waited.

The Dwarrow and Men fell silent.

A few gasps sounded when Bilbo, completely undeterred by the shackles at her feet, began running at a blurring speed towards the water. She'd just reached the edge of the river when she suddenly jumped, landed on the taut rope, and sped across the water from the safety of Dwarven woven rope.

Flambard barely suppressed a chuckle at hearing the sudden curse from the Archer who'd no doubt thought his cousin had been about to dive into the cold water.

“ _Aim!_ ” Bilbo's order was once again met with an immediate reaction.

As one the Hobbits readied themselves. Each set their stance wide and lifted their arm with a pebble held at the ready in practiced palms.

When Bilbo reached the middle of the river, Flambard glanced at the Dwarrow he knew would soon play important roles in his cousin's life.

He didn't have to look to know the exact moment Bilbo used the rope to spring herself further into the air like an arrow shot straight up.

The Archer's suddenly pale face and reflexive step forward told him.

He didn't have to look to know when she reached the highest point in the air and unhooked the chains attached to either hip to arch them around her twisting frame.

The amazement and admiration on the Young Prince's face told him.

And he didn't have to look to know the exact moment his cousin detached the ball-like ornaments from the thick ring, releasing the miniature powder bombs with a well-practiced twirl of the chains, so that they could fall to the water with near silent _plops_.

The dawning horror and rapidly growing panic on the faces of the Dwarven Leader and the Dwarf with pointed red hair at his back told him.

And those expressions told him all he needed to know.

Flambard couldn't help but smile in relief.

“ _Fire!_ ”

The order came a second after twin chains skimmed across the water in chase of the ornaments that had landed upon the wet blanket only a blink before.

It came in the same moment the miniature bombs exploded just under the surface of the water.

And it was instantly obeyed.

Pebbles flew with true aim towards the fish that had been blasted into the air. Though the force of the throws were enough to knock most of the fish to the other side of the lazy river where a group of Men and Dwarrow waited, some were out of reach.

Those were quickly sent flying after the rest with expertly controlled chains.

Bilbo, who had been hidden by the towers of water bursting around her, twirled her chains as she spun back to the ground to send over as many fish as she could.

As she fell, Flambard bolted from his spot to the area where his cousin's eyes were fixated on.

He was only slightly surprised to be directed into the path of a stone-faced Dwarven Prince and pale Archer. Seemed the two had both rushed forward when they realized the rope had snapped from the explosions.

He offered them a cheeky grin.

“Best get ready if you plan on standing there!”

Twin chains suddenly wrapping around Flambard's outstretched arms silenced whatever reply either would have made.

Both lunged forward, grabbing a chain each, and held them steady before the weight of the cold metal could even settle on his arms.

Flambard could only laugh as they both stared forward with a fierce glare at the grinning Dwobbit slowly pulling herself ashore.

“ _I see they doubted your strength to hold me!_ ” Bilbo looked completely unconcerned by the twin glares as she glanced down at the water, seemingly groping at something beneath the surface, before continuing her efforts.

Flambard was helpless to stop his laughter. “ _It would appear so, cousin! I'd have thought every Dwarf would have realized it by now!_ ”

“ _Realized what?_ ”

“ _That a Hobbit can't be moved when his feet are planted!_ ”

Bilbo laughed joyfully as she reached the shallow water. She pulled herself up to walk the rest of the way to land, still laughing with a fond smile tossed his way, and began shaking out her sodden hair.

The chains were looped around her elbows to free up her hands the moment she reached dry ground.

Though the Hobbits who helped with the fishing called out their appreciation for her efforts, the Dwarrow and Men had remained frozen to the spots. Some had reached for weapons when the first explosion sent water flying, but only a few had actually unsheathed them.

Thankfully, none looked ready to use them.

“Well done, cousin!” Bilbo made to move to his side, but was stopped by a spluttering Dwarven Prince.

“What in Mahal's name was _that_?” The sharp look to Frerin was enough to let everyone know exactly how she felt about his tone.

“Fishing,” she replied simply, shoving the chains at his chest with little care for how her soaked sleeves splashed water across him. It was amusing how fierce she looked even with water dripping off her brow and her curls plastered in every direction on her face and neck. “I'd have thought that obvious.”

The Older Prince tensed, neck turning red in anger as his eyebrow ticked up higher, but suddenly deflated with a long sigh. Flambard watched, amazed at the sudden change, as the Dwarf looked to Bilbo calmly.

“Are you hurt?”

His cousin was just as taken back by the change in temperament, but gathered herself quickly. She tilted her head, shifted her body ever so slightly as if taking stock of herself, and hummed in thought.

“No. It has been about two years since I have done this method on such a wide river, but I do this fairly often. At least once a month.”

“Aye,” Flambard confirmed, eyes never leaving the sincere concern displayed on the Prince's face. “My cousin does this for our settlement monthly. On the road, she does it at least once to gather fish quickly for trade when we get close to a market. Usually the balancing rope isn't needed, but this river is wide. We didn't know how deep it could be.”

“Does depth matter?” The Young Prince had rushed over with wide eyes quick enough to catch the end of what was said.

“It does,” said the Archer, looking at Bilbo with a troubled frown. “Hobbits can't swim.”

Bilbo rolled her eyes with a scoff as the Young Dwarf rapidly lost all color. She reached for him, seemingly without conscious thought, and gently patted his clenched fist.

“Hobbits _can_ swim. Just not well if unpracticed. Many are proficient. I swim just fine even in stronger currents, but we do not take chances with life. All precautions are taken,” she assured.

“Only because you don't want the younger ones trying to copy you,” he accused with a wink.

Bilbo turned her nose up at him after a loaded look, but didn't deny it.

“Well, the reason doesn't matter. I was safe. The explosives aren't powerful. It only looked impressive because you've never witnessed it before. It's really no different than when Men and Dwarrow use small bags of explosive powders or tiny jars of oil to loosen rocks.”

“How did you even know the formula for such powder?” The Archer had taken one of the chains to examine with a thoughtful look.

“I didn't. My father taught me.”

“Father,” the Older Prince echoed. Flambard's eyes were boring into him in a flash at the undercurrent of emotion packed into the one word.

“You said he was a genius of inventions,” the Young Prince said, looking to Flambard with curiosity.

“Aye. He designed many things. This among them. The powder was a formula he made himself, I believe. Right, cousin?”

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, but it was only because he had studied that blasted Wizard's firework powder to compare with mining powder swiped from a Dwarf living in the Blue Mountains.”

Flambard's stare finally moved from Frerin to the Archer who had let out an odd noise. His expression was pleasantly curious, but there was something in his eyes that spoke of a far deeper emotion.

Realization sank heavily into Flambard's bones, but he didn't react.

_The Prince has realized who Bilbo's sire is, and the Archer knows who her father is. That will certainly help things_ , he thought with a sly grin. Bilbo spotted it and narrowed her eyes, but he only shook his head in response. _I certainly won't be saying anything. She'll find out soon enough._

“Cousin, we need to gather the Hobbits and get back to the fires. The Dwarrow on the other side of the river should be nearly done with collecting the fish. We will need to be there to prepare them,” he explained. Then, with a grin that made the three Dwarrow tense, he added innocently, “ _And_ it will help dry that dress out quicker to be near the heat. Don't want you catching ill with the sun going down. Look how soaked you are.”

As expected, all three glanced down at her attire with vastly different reactions.

The Archer instantly scowled and glanced around to make sure no one was looking at her. Those who were instantly turned away at the murderous glint in the dark eyes of a fiercely protective Dwarf.

The Older Prince's expression kept switching between exasperation and fury as he hurriedly worked on shrugging out of his coat and blistering anyone who looked as they may approach the small group with blazing blue eyes.

The Young Prince, however, was pure _gold_.

He'd turned bright red and jerked his head away with such force that he'd actually stumbled. Bilbo, bless her innocent soul, had reached to steady him with a concerned frown and outstretched arms. The lad, crimson and stuttering as his eyes fought a losing battle in trying to stay in a respectable place, turned and bolted with an incoherent excuse tumbling from his lips.

Bilbo, arms still lifted from where she'd been reaching to help the lad, slowly drew back and glanced in confusion between the two Dwarrow left standing beside her.

“Did I offend him? All the blood looked as though it suddenly rushed to his head, so I meant only to offer my hand to assist him.”

Flambard lost the battle with his laughter and cackled without restraint. Bilbo had no time to scold him as the Older Prince's coat was quickly wrapped around her as he shoved her towards him.

“Keep that on until you dry off,” he said while glaring at Flambard. “You can bring it to me when you come by to go over the final route for when we enter the barren lands at the base of the Misty Mountains tomorrow.”

“But what about the lad? He seemed unwell.”

“Do not worry, cousin. I'm sure he's only a bit overheated,” Flambard said, completely ignoring the twin glares he received over his cousin's head.

“He's fine,” the Archer soothed when Bilbo still hadn't moved. “I'll check on him before coming to retrieve you.”

Though looking slightly unsure, his cousin nodded. She started forward, face pinched in confusion and agitation, and adjusted the coat to sit around her properly.

“I doubt I'll catch ill. He didn't need to run from me as if I was contagious,” she muttered sullenly when it was only the two of them among a bustling company.

Flambard valiantly shoved down his laughter. It wouldn't be fair to laugh at her when she was actually upset.

“Come now, cousin. All is well. I'm sure whatever happened was unrelated. Though he did look a bit red, it was probably just the heat getting to him more easily due to exhaustion. The lad has been staying up later and getting up earlier to help with escorting our kin.”

Bilbo's face smoothed, the worry sliding away at his reasoning, and she turned a warm smile up at him.

“I suppose you're right.”

“Of course I am!” He grinned, but raised a curious brow at Bilbo. “Though, I did have a question. Just what were you doing in the water back there? You looked like you dropped something? Or got snagged?”

“Oh.” Bilbo shifted under the coat, pawing at the sides of her wet dress to find the pocket, and raised a clenched fist a moment later. Her fingers uncurled around a dirtied band of gold. It seemed simple enough, but Bilbo was frowning at it. “ _The Stone and the Earth both asked me to take this when my hand brushed the mud and gravel close to it. The Green Lady and Stone Father backed the call with their strength. It looks normal, but they said it would come to aide me. Harmless to me, but helpful. I am to keep it hidden until the time comes._ ”

Flambard blinked in surprise, but tucked away any questions to instead work on removing the troubled frown from Bilbo's face.

“Well, we will learn what it is in time,” he assured, reaching out to grasp at a strand of muddy hair. “First, I think we should get you cleaned up. Don't need you looking like a Goblin just because you have the manners of one.”

Bilbo cursed him fluently in Hobbitish while trying to smack him away with her shackled hands.

He laughed, dancing out of the way, and led her on a merry chase far from all of her troubles.

-LoSF-

Fíli was certain a Dwarf had never died of embarrassment, but he felt close enough to it that he contemplated asking Óin if it were possible.

Maybe he'd be the first.

If his reaction to seeing the Hobbit Guard's clothes plastered to her like a second skin didn't do him in, the teasing that had come from his father would.

And Nori.

Because _of course_ Nori had secretly been standing near to keep an eye on them.

He'd chased after Fíli with wolfish amusement, but had gotten onto him for not treating a lass with more respect before teasing him for his embarrassment at seeing her in such a state.

Fíli wasn't entirely sure, but it felt as though the Spy-Master wanted to throttle him.

The heavy smack he gave his shoulder before leaving him had certainly felt more loaded with strength than usual.

He really thought it shouldn't be too much of a surprise.

Frerin had assigned Nori directly to keeping an eye on the Hobbit Guard after it became known she was the one directly under threats of harm by the Men sent by the Master.

Though the Men of Dale stepped up to try and soothe relations between the Hobbits and Men by promising to keep their eyes on her, Frerin still ordered Nori to make her his priority at all times.

Even above the Thain-Heir, who had been acting rather odd and more prone to bouts of emotion lately, Nori was meant to protect the Hobbit Guard.

Fíli could admit it seemed to be a full-time job.

The Guard was always in the thick of things in her single-minded focus in protecting her kin.

Though he hated thinking on it, the Men were smart in deciding to try to steal a Hobbit to get to her.

He doubted the Hobbit Guard would hesitate to offer herself up for torture if it meant protecting her kin.

“Finally decided to stop hiding,” Frerin asked after Fíli entered his uncle's tent.

He answered that with an unimpressed look. “You sent Bofur for me.”

“Aye.” His uncle looked at him curiously, arms crossed and stance wide in an unconscious display of intimidation, and dipped his head towards a wooden box. “Have a seat. Emli is still busy with Memli, so you'll be needed to look over the maps. I've already talked to Víli. We'll say you have a strong Stone Sense and leave it at that if the Hobbit asks.”

Fíli nodded in understanding. It was a true enough claim. His Stone Sense was nearly on level with some of Erebor's best Stone Masons, but it was his ability to see and feel what it wished to show that made him skilled with deciding on a route.

He'd not be any help until his boots were actually upon the stone that made the rocky trails, but he could memorize the marked paths and ask the stone for guidance when they reached the mountain.

He only had to wait until he was close enough to communicate with it.

With his communicative range only being around six yards, compared to his Stone Sense being connected to the stone for several leagues, it would be a long wait.

Still, Fíli had hope the stone would call a warning if something was truly wrong.

It had been able to do so before in order to save his brother's life.

Perhaps it would again.

“How is Memli,” he asked after taking a seat and glancing at the maps. The elegant loops and gentle lines next to his uncle's heavy scrawl were no doubt made by the Hobbit Guard. He was surprised by how delicate her writing looked. It reminded him of his soon-to-be sister-in-law's light handwriting. “Her leg is nearly healed?”

“It is. Her other wounds were minor, but she's been nervous around the Men. Those under Bard have made sure to be welcoming while giving her space, but the Men under the Master have been purposefully looming over her. Emli has been keeping them away.”

Fíli mirrored his uncle's scowl. It was never easy having to play politics. Though they, along with most of the company, would happily slit the throats of the decrepit filth, they couldn't do anything to any of the Men unless they'd been caught doing wrong.

As annoying as it was to accept, looming over a woman wasn't considered a criminal act.

Fíli rather thought it should be.

“I'm sure Emli can handle them, but I'm glad a few Dwarrow have been assigned to look after them.”

Frerin nodded in agreement. “Holkin and Drakin have a little sister nearly a decade younger than Memli. The two Dams are close friends. Memli just so happens to be the girl's court mentor, as well. They'll protect them both even more fiercely in honor of Memli's position in their sister's life. I do not think we need to worry about her safety.”

“Aye. Just the Guard's.”

“Aye.”

Fíli arched a brow at the heavy look from his uncle. He was once again slipping into a stance meant to intimidate, leaning over the maps on braced arms to hover just at the edge of Fíli's personal space.

The position wasn't appreciated.

“Yes,” Fíli drew out the word with a trace of irritation in his tone. “Is there something you wanted to add to that?”

Frerin smirked, but didn't shift his stance as he said, “Víli has done an excellent job of guarding her, but he's not always going to be near. Especially in the mountains. I'll need his bow ready for a possible ambush. Perhaps I should assign her another guard.”

Fíli was well aware what his uncle was suggesting, but wasn't going to jump at the bait. There was something about the way Frerin was acting that reminded him of Nori and Dori when Kíli first expressed interest in courting Ori.

Considering how Frerin had treated the lass since their first meeting, Fíli was lost as to if the obvious display of protection was done for her sake, his own, or for another reason entirely.

Either way, Fíli was quickly growing unimpressed with his uncle's behavior.

“I'm certain she can take care of herself, but the shackles you ordered on her do put her at a disadvantage,” he said a little too innocently, and narrowed his eyes when Frerin flinched. “Is there a reason you are bringing this to me? Nori has already been assigned to her. Bofur is keeping an eye out at Bifur's request. Though an unaccepted Forged Bond is extremely limited, he will at least feel the one-sided Bond pull him her direction when she's in danger. Bard's Men have all sworn to watch over her, as well. Most of the Dwarrow have their eyes on her because of her status among the Hobbit Caravan _and_ the Thain-Heir's personal bodyguard. At this point, she has more eyes on her than the Thain-Heir or myself. So, why ask me?”

Frerin frowned at him, but Fíli didn't show any signs of backing off.

He couldn't.

Not when it had something to do with his One.

Even if she wasn't aware of the fact.

“I'd thought you'd be jumping at the chance to shadow her.”

“I would not insult her by doing anything other than standing at her side,” Fíli said calmly with barely a trace of the anger he felt. “My mother taught me better than that.”

Again, his uncle frowned.

“You think it wrong to watch over her?”

“No. I think it wrong to trail after her as if I carry hidden doubts on her capabilities as a warrior-maiden. I do not doubt her strength. Do I think she is hindered by her restraints? Yes. Do I think such a thing will make her less capable? No,” Fíli explained, glaring at his uncle for suggesting he wouldn't care about his One's safety. “Everyone is watching her from all sides. Nori, my father, and Flambard guard her back. _I_ will stand at her side. _Not_ in the shadows of her back.”

Frerin struck the makeshift table with rough palms and opened his mouth with agitation sparking in his blue eyes, but was interrupted from saying anything by a guard just outside the tent announcing Víli and the Hobbit Guard approaching.

Fíli relaxed his posture and expression more quickly than his uncle, but both seemed their normal selves by the time his father and the Hobbit lass entered the tent.

“Ah. I see you've made it in time. I'd wondered if Bofur would find you.” Víli offered a wide grin to his son after ushering the Hobbit further into the room.

“He informed me just before the dinner call, so I rushed over.”

The Hobbit frowned at this. “You skipped dinner?”

“I can eat later,” he said gently, hoping to soothe her concern. Instead, her frown deepened and she turned a glare at his uncle.

“You should at least let the lad eat. He's already marching all day with the rest of us. And don't think I haven't noticed you've been sending him to my kin more and more. The lad needs some rest. Was it really necessary for him to be dragged here away from his meal?”

Fíli wasn't sure if he was happy at her fierce defense of him, or saddened by how she saw him as a child when she herself was considered an adult by her own people.

It made him worry on how much time he would get to spend with her, but he would cherish every moment he was blessed to be in her presence.

Even if she only ever viewed him as a pebble instead of a grown Dwarf.

Her companionship would be enough.

“It was,” Frerin answered with a slight twitch of his lips. The Guard didn't share in his amusement if the darkening scowl was anything to go by. “He's needed for the maps in Emli's place.”

Interest replaced the growing anger as the Hobbit turned back to Fíli. Her curious look was oddly innocent. It made her look years younger. He found himself once again doubting her claimed age in face of her childish wonder.

“Does your Craft involve maps like Emli's?”

Fíli blinked in surprise. He hadn't thought her interest would be centered on the subject of Crafts. Most races found it boring to discuss, but the Hobbit looked intrigued.

“No.” Fíli shook his head with a fond grin. He didn't care what his uncle and father thought about openly displaying his affections for the lass. Unless she asked him to stop, he wouldn't deny what his heart knew any longer. “My Craft lies elsewhere. I have a strong Stone Sense, though. It may not be very helpful now, but it will come in handy once we get to the paths.”

She looked even more interested, but Frerin stopped her from asking further by beckoning her over.

Though she went without complaint, her eyes shone with disappointment before they cleared into an expression Fíli had come to realize was the one she wore when doing her guard duties.

He listened carefully as she marked the maps and answered any questions Frerin had, but his eyes kept leaving the dark ink to instead trace the lines of the Hobbit's face.

She didn't have a single winkle on her face.

In fact, she looked incredibly young.

Even her bare cheeks seemed to hold traces of baby fat.

Fíli knew for certain that a pebble didn't manage to drop the last of it until they were sixty, but wasn't sure when a Hobbit would.

He suspected it happened long before the age of fifty.

The age she claimed to be.

Again, doubt filled his mind on his One's true age.

“I will have the lad study the maps further to memorize the main and back-up routes. If he focuses his Stone Sense ahead towards the exact spots, he will know long before we reach the path if something is wrong,” Frerin explained with a glare over the Guard's head.

Fíli happily ignored the look in favor of the curious eyes shining across the table at him. “I will do all I can to help everyone cross safely.”

She blinked in surprise at his earnest tone, but smiled warmly in face of it. “I appreciate your services.”

Frerin grumbled, but it was too low and jumbled for Fíli to make sense of it. The Guard, however, seemed to understand a bit of it if the widened eyes and reddened cheeks were anything to go by.

“I think I've helped enough for the night,” she said icily to Frerin. He flinched, seeming to just realize he'd been heard, and cursed low in the Dwarven tongue. “I'll see myself to my kin. _Alone_.” She gave his father a stern look when he had stepped as if to follow.

“I can escort you to your kin,” he offered.

“No. I'll be just fine. Everyone should be heading back to the tent by now. They've gone in small groups to bathe after delivering fish to each campfire. We have decided to have a private meal tonight. We will not be able to have such an opportunity until after we cross the mountain path. It is too dangerous to stop for long. We usually eat our meals on the go.”

“That's why you've been making jerky with the game you've killed lately,” Fíli said in realization. She nodded at him, but quickly averted her eyes with a light blush when their eyes met.

“Yes. Well, thank you for your help tonight. Do try and get some rest. _After_ you finish your meal with your kin.”

She was moving towards the tent entrance and gone before anything could be said. Fíli turned a confused look to his uncle, but his father was glaring.

“Was that necessary to say? I already told you she gets uncomfortable with any vulgar jokes directed her way.”

“I hadn't meant it that way,” Frerin mumbled, looking contrite.

“There really wasn't another way for you to mean it,” Víli deadpanned. “You'll be needing to apologize. Again. Should I start making a list?”

“No worries on tha',” Nori walked in without a sound. He was rubbing at his temple with a disgruntled look, but appeared oddly impressed. “I 'ave one.”

“What happened to you,” Fíli asked when he saw the knot appearing at the Spy-Master's temple.

“The 'obbit wit' the scar on 'is face got a shot at me when I tried to snoop 'round 'im. Bastard 'as a strong arm.”

"He saw you?" Frerin looked impressed.

"More like 'eard."

That was even more impressive. “Flambard heard you?”

“Aye. 'obbit ears hear nearly better 'an elves. Tis why ye uncle 'ere is in 'ot water wit' the lass. Again.”

“What did you say?” Fíli raised a curious brow at his uncle, but he quickly turned to look at Nori instead.

“Didn't you come to give me a report?”

“Aye,” Nori agreed with a look at Fíli.

He responded with a roll of his eyes as he stood.

Fíli knew when he was being dismissed.

“I'll just go see if Bofur saved me any dinner.”

He stood with a tired groan, took a few steps across the room, and stumbled under the staggering volume of the stone _bellowing_ at him to _move boy_.

The voice within the shrieking stone shook him to the core, making him dizzy with adrenaline and cold with fear, while the roaring under it crashed through his skull like Dwarven drums of war.

Because it wasn't simply the stone yelling.

The Stone Father, the voice he only managed to hear in the deepest parts of Erebor, was ordering him to _stand_ and _run lad_.

Víli and Nori both reached to pull him up from where he'd fallen to his knees from the weight of power within Mahal's voice, but he shoved them away as the urgency of the stone and his Lord commanded him to _hurry boy_ and _protect her_.

“The Guard,” he rasped before bolting out of the tent.

He heard his kin rushing to him. They were demanding he slow down and explain, but he couldn't.

He _wouldn't._

Not with the Stone growing more uneasy with every step.

Not when the Stone Father was pelting his senses with information on where to step to get where he _needed_ to be the fastest.

Not when he could feel _her_.

Feel her wrath and hatred and near paralyzing worry growing stronger the closer he got to the tent closest to the Hobbit one.

“Fíli!” Nori, the fastest of them all, was suddenly beside him and trying to grab at his arm. The snarl he received for his attempt had the Dwarf yanking his hand back before he lost it. “Wha–”

Fíli didn't need to answer.

Not when the enraged shrieks of Hobbits and the bellowing screams of a Man lost in pain shot into the night to alert all within the Company.

Not when a previously slumbering stone awakened to send out a single call. Commanding _everyone_ to _battle_ in aide of a single Hobbit.

“The Guard has been hurt!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview of next chapter:
> 
> -LoSF-
> 
> Bilbo cursed herself in every language she knew as she hurried from the tent where the blasted Dwarven Leader was.
> 
> She was a fool for letting his words embarrass her, but she was an even bigger fool for even taking what he said into consideration for even a single moment.
> 
> It's impossible, she thought while stomping her way towards her kin. He thinks you are middle-aged. There is no way he would be interested.
> 
> Bilbo continued scolding herself for even thinking of the Dwarf in such a way given their situation, but couldn't deny he was handsome.
> 
> Or charming.
> 
> And many other things.
> 
> Still, she wasn't interested in him.
> 
> She couldn't be.
> 
> She wouldn't let herself be.
> 
> Sighing in frustration, Bilbo pushed thoughts of the distracting Dwarf away and hurried towards the large tent housing her kin.
> 
> It was as she neared it that she slowed down.
> 
> Then, she stopped.
> 
> And stared.
> 
> Because for the first time since being captured, there weren't any guards stationed at the tent entrance.
> 
> She could hear her kin inside quietly speaking.
> 
> They all seemed well and untroubled, but her stomach suddenly turned.
> 
> Something was wrong.
> 
> But the stone wasn't screaming at her.
> 
> It wasn't guiding her to an injured Dwarf, or telling her to listen.
> 
> So, her Stone Sense wasn't worried for any of the Children of Mahal.
> 
> But that could only mean it was a Child of Yavanna who was in trouble.
> 
> Ice settled in Bilbo's blood.
> 
> The ring, Yavanna's voice suddenly whispered to her from a small daisy blooming beside a Dwarven tent. Use it.
> 
> After a glance around to make sure no one was looking, Bilbo obeyed.
> 
> Her senses lurched at the sudden cold world she was thrown into.
> 
> It would be colorless if not for the sparking bit of twisting flames here and there.
> 
> There was one, a bit further beyond the tent housing her kin, that was brighter and larger than the others.
> 
> Bilbo couldn't hear her beloved Lady in the cold world, but she still felt a push from the earth beneath her feet to go to the growing flame.
> 
> It wasn't until she started moving that she realized no one saw her.
> 
> The ring, among other things, appeared to shadow her from the sight of others.
> 
> Bilbo pushed her curiosity aside as she marched forward with growing dread. Something was terribly wrong.
> 
> She paused outside the tent a moment to listen.
> 
> At first, there was only silence.
> 
> Then, barely heard over the bustle of camp, she heard a whimper.
> 
> One that conjured memories of children huddled in fear as Orcs shrieked and Goblins sang and whips came from all directions.
> 
> A memory of a loss so great that a life was changed forever, and learning the cold truth that simply surviving long enough to get home doesn't mean everything is okay.
> 
> Because sometimes, sometimes, a loss is so great that it takes part of you with it.
> 
> The reminder spurred Bilbo into movement.
> 
> She slipped into the tent unseen, but slid off the ring once inside.
> 
> Her Gift stuttered beneath her feet, waking the stone from a peaceful slumber, at what she saw.


	10. TEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading! With the New Year celebrations with family over, I'll be doing my best to update every Wed and Sat.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING. There is an attack on a Hobbit lass in this chapter. Nothing too graphic and nothing of a sexual nature happens to her. A bit roughed up from being dragged and thrown around, but otherwise she is fine. Just wanted to let you know.

-LoSF-

Bilbo cursed herself in every language she knew as she hurried from the tent where the blasted Dwarven Leader was.

She was a fool for letting his words embarrass her, but she was an even bigger fool for taking what he said into consideration for a single moment.

_It's impossible_ , she thought while stomping her way towards her kin. _He thinks you are middle-aged. There is no way he would be interested._

Bilbo continued scolding herself for even thinking of the Dwarf in such a way given their situation, but couldn't deny he was handsome.

Or charming.

And many other things.

Still, she wasn't interested in him.

She couldn't be.

She wouldn't let herself be.

Sighing in frustration, Bilbo pushed thoughts of the distracting Dwarf away and hurried towards the large tent housing her kin.

It was as she neared it that she slowed down.

Then, she stopped.

And stared.

Because for the first time since being captured, there weren't any guards stationed at the tent entrance.

She could hear her kin inside quietly speaking.

They all seemed well and untroubled, but her stomach suddenly turned.

Something was _wrong_.

But the stone wasn't screaming at her.

It wasn't guiding her to an injured Dwarf, or telling her to listen.

So, her Stone Sense wasn't worried for any of the Children of Mahal.

But that could only mean it was a Child of Yavanna who was in trouble.

Ice settled in Bilbo's blood.

_The ring_ , Yavanna's voice suddenly whispered to her from a small daisy blooming beside a Dwarven tent. _Use it._

After a glance around to make sure no one was looking, Bilbo obeyed.

Her senses lurched at the sudden cold world she was thrown into.

It would be colorless if not for the sparking bit of twisting flames here and there.

There was one, a bit further beyond the tent housing her kin, that was brighter and larger than the others.

Bilbo couldn't hear her beloved Lady in the cold world, but she still felt a push from the earth beneath her feet to go to the growing flame.

It wasn't until she started moving that she realized no one saw her.

The ring, among other things, appeared to shadow her from the sight of those near.

Bilbo pushed her curiosity aside as she marched forward with growing dread. Something was terribly wrong.

She paused outside the tent a moment to listen.

At first, there was only silence.

Then, barely heard over the bustle of camp, she heard a whimper.

One that conjured memories of children huddled in fear as Orcs shrieked and Goblins sang and whips came from all directions.

A memory of a loss so great that a life was changed forever, and learning the cold truth that simply surviving long enough to get home doesn't mean everything is okay.

Because sometimes, sometimes, a loss is so great that it takes part of you with it.

The reminder spurred Bilbo into movement.

She slipped into the tent unseen, but slid off the ring once inside so she could see beyond the bright flame.

Her Gift stuttered beneath her feet, waking the stone from a peaceful slumber, at what she saw.

A throat ripping shriek tore from her as she lunged across the space in a blind rage.

Four Men scattered around the tent jumped in surprise at the hair-raising sound.

The filth closest to the entrance had only enough time to half rise from his crouched position before the chains binding steady hands tightened around his throat.

A firm foot into the only kind of spine the coward had prevented him from any chance of arching away when Bilbo _pulled_ and _twisted_.

She released him in the next second, chains sliding away from the unnatural bend of a broken neck, and pounced on the next Man.

The bastard was still working his way to his feet from his spot on the floor when silver eyes filled with death focused on him.

He tried to reach for a weapon tucked somewhere at his back, but Bilbo was far too quick.

Nimble fingers swiped up a discarded mallet left atop one of the many barrels hammered shut inside the tent before the Man even managed to get both feet steady beneath him.

A well-practiced swing lifted the Man off his feet.

Blood splashed across Bilbo's still moving form.

The head of the mallet, having snapped off against the Man's skull, clattered to the ground a moment before the Man crumbled.

He, like his friend before him, was dead before his body hit the ground.

Bilbo didn't pay the blood squelching between her toes from the Man's crushed skull any mind.

All her attention zoned in on the clumsy steps rapidly approaching her back.

Using the earth's guidance and her own hearing, Bilbo raised her arm, pivoted, and snapped her hips to the side.

The approaching Man toppled over her smaller form, heels kicking uselessly in the air, and slammed into the ground with enough force to momentarily stun him.

A moment was all that was needed.

Bilbo struck quick as a viper.

The sharp end of the broken mallet buried deeply into the Man's throat.

Bilbo looked up from the Man choking out a final wet breath, his splattered blood dripping like red tears down her face, and barred her teeth in fury at the last Man.

He paled under her gaze. Too afraid to look away from her, he pawed blindly below him to try and grasp at the one thing he thought could save him.

The Hobbit lass beneath him screamed in fright around the rope gagging her.

Bilbo, seeing the shaking knife in the Man's hand moving for the girl's throat, shrieked as her vision tunneled.

Her Gift thrummed to life beneath her bloodied feet to lend her the strength of earth and stone.

The Man yelped in fright when he was suddenly slammed into from the side at a speed that should not have been possible for anyone.

The hand grasping the knife lashed out, but Bilbo didn't visibly react as it passed through fabric and flesh to bloody her side.

It scattered to the ground as they rolled, laying abandoned close to the curled up lass shaking in relief on the ground, and Bilbo surged forward with an ever growing rage to get the bastard away from her kin.

The Man kicked and swung his fists in a blind and desperate effort to dislodge her, but Bilbo didn't let him go as they became a mess of tangled limbs in their fight to pin the other.

The relieved sobs of her young kin filled Bilbo's ears as she continued to wrestle the Man away, pushing him back easily despite the chains binding her and the bleeding wound at her side.

Hearing those heartbreaking cries, Bilbo's Gift thrummed in strength and overflowed beyond her control despite her best efforts to keep it contained.

Yavanna's most powerful Blessing, the Gift of Mahal, was beginning to awaken.

And with it came a part of Bilbo usually buried deep down.

A part kept locked up tight unless the Gift that both blessed and cursed a Hobbit was unleashed.

A being of battle, blood, and death.

As that unyielding side reared up to claim the souls of those who threatened a Daughter of the Green Lady, the gentler aspects that forged Bilbo fell away.

Until all she felt, all she could think of, was death.

Death to all who sought to harm the Children of Yavanna.

Bilbo's lust for the Man's blood filled her Gift to overflowing.

It trembled through the stone and earth to alert all around with the ability to hear the whispers of the land.

She had no doubt her kin heard her call when the Hobbit tent erupted into enraged shouts.

But Bilbo didn't think too much on the thundering steps heading her way, or the continuous pulse of stone whispering _hold on_ and _he's coming_.

She didn't have time to think on it.

Not when fists were beating down on her shackled body to bruise her skin and dig into the still bleeding wound.

Not when the sobs of a far too young Hobbit lass behind her grew louder with every strike of flesh.

No.

She would think of such things later.

For now, Bilbo dove into the haze of her rage and unleashed a war cry that rose above all other noise to echo her fury for all to hear.

She wanted the bastard's death.

Now, she was going to collect it.

-LoSF-

Frerin, like the other Men and Dwarrow in the camp, bolted towards the tent housing the Hobbits when a Man's pained bellows and shrieks in the secret tongue of Hobbits filled the air.

Nori, who had cursed damn poor timing before giving chase to an enraged Fíli, ran in step with his nephew just a breath ahead.

As they neared the tent, Frerin expected to find the assigned guard overpowered and the Hobbits trying to escape.

But the tent was still packed with Hobbits. They were trying to climb over and under a wall of Dwarrow who were doing their best to keep them at bay without harming them.

Fíli, to his surprise, rushed beyond the tent as if the fires of Mordor were at his heels.

Though he called out to his nephew, the boy didn't answer.

It was only as he followed his gaze that he realized Fíli had been running at one of the storage tents.

The lad grabbed the edge of the canvas and ripped it aside with such force the fabric tore away to leave a gaping hole behind.

Nothing could have prepared Frerin for the sight that greeted him.

Amidst a pool of blood and broken bodies, Wild One was straddling a Man.

He'd have remained frozen where he stood under the weight of his shock if not for the whimpering that cut through his clouded senses.

In a single breath, Frerin took in the distraught state of a disheveled young Hobbit lass, animalistic snarling ripped from somewhere deep and primal within the Hobbit Guard, and the clumsy but bruising fists coming from the downed Man against anything he could reach on the near savage lass pinning him down.

The realization of what the Man had tried doing sunk into his bones.

He was beside the enraged Guard before he even realized he'd moved, but was glad to see his kin had already dove into action at his side.

The broad bones of a large fist raining down on the little woman snapped between his fingers with little effort.

Nori, with a vengeful look in his eyes that matched his own, took care of the other.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not with the way the stone had been yelling at the Dwarrow to protect the young one, Fíli and Víli both were knelt in front of the sobbing Hobbit lass. They were doing their best to keep the Man out of her sight, but she still flinched with every sound he made.

She calmed slightly when Fíli gently handed over his coat to bring warmth and protection to her trembling body, soothing tones rumbling from his chest in an attempt to drown out the other noises within the tent.

The Hobbit Guard, however, was far from calmed.

In the rush to get to her, Frerin hadn't noticed she'd locked down her jaw tighter than a Dwarven treasury at the base of the man's throat until he went to pull the lass away.

It was a gruesome sight, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest that she'd go so far as to use teeth as a weapon to protect her kin.

Frerin hurried to get her off before the lass could manage to rip the Man's throat out.

Luckily, Nori was swift to find a solution.

He managed to get the Guard off quick enough by gripping under her jaw as carefully as he could, rumbling apologies to her while tightening his hold until she relented.

She released with a feral sound and snapped her head to the side to try and bite at Nori's retreating fingers.

Frerin pulled her away, hoisting her off the ground with more effort than her size should demand of him, and winced when kicking feet managed to hit the Man's chest with a deafening _snap_.

He wouldn't be surprised if that single hit broke a few ribs.

He was, however, more than surprised at how difficult it was to hold Wild One's slighter body against his own. Trembles from adrenaline fueled rage shook her smaller frame, but those quakes did nothing to deter surprisingly flexible muscle that moved with a strength that belied her size from working against him in a relentless effort to free herself.

She bucked and thrashed like an animal out for blood. Bellows of Hobbitish ripped from her throat as loud and blood-hungry as any Dwarven war-cry.

“Little help,” Frerin called in growing panic when his hold began to slip. The Hobbit was going to break free and kill the Man if she didn't stop.

The Spy-Master responded immediately, but even with his help the two were struggling.

“Calm down, lass,” Nori tried to soothe only to yelp and tumble away as the lass arched her back to swing shackled feet up and slam them without mercy into the Dwarf's chest.

“Put me down!” The sheer volume of her roar nearly had Frerin dropping her.

“No,” he grunted in his struggle to contain her. Suddenly, with more than a little despair, Frerin found himself agreeing with Fíli. The shackles didn't seem to deter her at all. In fact, he was starting to think she only wore them for show. “You must be calm.”

Hobbitish answered his command in such a scathing tone that Frerin didn't doubt he was being cursed.

He knew very little of the secret language, but he'd been cursed at by his old companion enough to recognize the sound.

“Lass,” he said more gently, “you cannot kill him. I need to–”

A feral roar more kin to a bear than a Hobbit silenced him. Frerin, knowing he wasn't going to be able to hold her in their current position much longer, widened his stance and _heaved_.

Pain from impacting the ground radiated up and down his spine, but he kept his arms locked tight around the struggling Guard even as she began clawing at his arms.

Wild One certainly had the strength to make things difficult, but she was still smaller and less experienced in combat than himself.

As they were, she wasn't going anywhere.

“Get him out of here,” he grunted out an order to Nori as sharp elbows dug into his gut.

The Dwarf was happy to do so with all the gentleness of a starved Orc handling their newest victim.

The lass shrieked like a wild thing at him, trying to swivel around to land her heels somewhere that would break his hold, but he swung a leg around her knees to pin them in place before she could shatter any of his bones.

Frerin winced at the bite of sharp teeth digging into his arm, but only tightened his grip in response.

“Guard,” Fíli called in the same calm tone used when diffusing tempers at court. To Frerin's surprise, the thrashing stopped. The teeth locked on his arm loosened. A stuttered breath brushed across the small wound when the lass deflated, the full weight of her settling firmly into his hold while a fine tremble from suppressed emotion and adrenaline shook her body. “The Man is no longer a threat, but your kin very well may be in danger. She needs to see a Healer.”

The Guard sighed in response to Fíli's earnest tone, but didn't reply immediately.

Instead, she shifted her head enough to look to where he stood. As Nori had worked on dragging out the Man, his nephew somehow convinced the injured lass to allow him to carry her.

Because she sat, completely covered by Fíli's coat, trembling in his arms from low sobs while he stood ready and waiting for the Guard's instructions.

Again, the Guard sighed.

She followed it with a deep inhale.

A single string of Hobbitish bellowed from Wild One the next moment.

The shrieking coming from the Hobbit tent went silent. An answering cry from a single voice much further away, one Frerin recognized instantly with a sudden spark of worry, came immediately after.

“What did you say?” Frerin, sensing the lass wasn't going to bolt after the Man to finish what she started, carefully sat them up while giving the order to the Dwarrow hovering outside the tent to get back.

The sobs of the lass had calmed drastically, but she was still silently weeping. The last thing she needed was a bunch of concerned gawkers blocking the exit.

“Release me.”

Frerin glanced at Víli and Fíli, who were looking at the Guard in concern, and knew they heard the undercurrent of something _more_ beneath the fury in her voice as well.

Something powerful.

Near ancient.

_Sacred_.

“Do you plan on going after the Man?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, and Frerin winced at both the bloodied mess her face made and the burning hatred in her eyes.

He dearly hoped none of that was directed at him.

The Guard turned without answering his question. Cold fingers coiled around his wrist, now able to reach in their new position, and _squeezed_.

Frerin wasn't sure if he let go in surprise or pain at the immense pressure her grip was able to create.

She was up and across the space to lean over her kin before he could reach for her.

Fíli had the sense to stand still when she stormed over.

“Easy,” she crooned softly. The warm, loving notes were completely different from the tone of just a moment before. “Breathe, sweetling. I am here.”

A hand shot out from the bundled fabric to grasp frantically at a strand of silver hair. Wild One received the most likely painful tug without complaint.

Frerin couldn't hear what the young lass was saying to the Guard, but Víli and Fíli both flinched.

“Aye. We are going.”

She paused, silver eyes sliding up to Fíli's concerned expression, and spoke gently in Hobbitish. The girl answered, sounding certain if a bit shaky, and pulled the coat tighter around her.

“Follow me,” she instructed Fíli rather needlessly. Even without her command, Frerin suspected his nephew would follow her anywhere.

“Where to,” Frerin rumbled, beating down the sudden rush of rage that came at seeing the colorful bruises marring the Guard's face when she faced him fully. A gash on her forehead was sluggishly bleeding, blood mixing with the crimson trails from scratches splitting the skin of her cheek, but she didn't seem to pay either wound any mind.

“The Thain-Heir.” She moved, without glancing at any of them, and stepped out of the tent with Fíli less than a full step behind.

Frerin, beside Víli, rushed to follow.

“I do not–”

“The walking corpse you've torn from death's clutches has attacked and harmed a Hobbit. One who happens to be Thain-Heir's youngest sister-in-law,” she stated without bothering to pause. Dwarrow and Men alike dove out of her path as if she herself were an approaching blade rather than a half-beaten woman.

“Sister-in-law?” Víli sent a loaded look at Frerin, but he was too busy cursing ill luck and foul Men to think on the meaning of it.

“Emilia Horncastle is the youngest sister by adoption to our beloved Thain-Heir's husband.” Silver eyes shining with the cold fury of a winter storm chilled Frerin to the bone. He continued treading her steps with the same care one would take when crossing an expanse of ice. “His mother took in several children after their parents died in an attack by Mountain Bandits. As the Head of House for that very family, with the Thain-Heir's husband being my appointed heir, seeing as I am not married and have no children of my own to hand the title to, Miss Horncastle's care falls under us both.”

Frerin absorbed the information with the same bone-jarring force felt when blocking one of Dwalin's blows.

He cursed.

In trying to keep Wild One from a political mess, it seemed he created one.

Still, he couldn't let her just kill the Man without investigating.

She wouldn't see his reasons, but he hoped the Thain-Heir would understand and order the Hobbit Guard to stand down.

Now, in knowing their relationship to the girl attacked, it seemed unlikely.

_And_ , Frerin thought with an ever growing sense of outrage and worry as he cataloged every wound revealed by the passing light of abandoned campfires, _the Guard's appearance will not sit well with the Thain-Heir._

From all that the Thain-Heir was a relative mystery, the one thing that she didn't keep hidden was her loyalty and love for the Hobbit Guard.

She had already expressed rather colorfully what would happen if any true harm came to the woman.

Seeing the Guard's condition, despite how it didn't seem to bother the woman herself, Frerin knew the upcoming confrontation would be far worse than any they'd had so far.

Judging by the tense expressions of those guarding the Thain-Heir's tent, and their rather disheveled appearances, her ire would not be calmed so easily.

Grimacing, Frerin began to call out to the stationed Dwraven guards when Wild One barked out a surprised laugh.

“I see Thain-Heir tried to make her way to us. I hope she didn't manage to rip out any braids. Her grip is quite strong.”

An agitated string of Hobbitish went over whatever reply the guard's would have made.

The Hobbit Guard sent a reaper's smile his way.

Frerin suddenly wished an Orc raid would be upon them.

“My cousin wishes to speak directly to you, Dwarf. Come along.”

The blood around her grinning mouth did nothing to disperse the ominous feeling wrapping around his spine.

_An Orc raid_ , Frerin thought in despair while watching the canvas slide aside, _with Wargs. That should be enough._

As soon as he thought it, he took it back.

A few Trolls strolling into camp wouldn't be enough to stop the Thain-Heir from seeking him out to scold the ears off him.

Not if the shrill scream of Hobbitish and barrage of items flying his and Víli's way were anything to go by.

_No_ , he thought as a food tray bounced off his skull, _Trolls wouldn't be nearly enough_.

-LoSF-

Primula hadn't stopped shouting since the group had walked in nearly an hour ago.

First, she'd been horrified at seeing Bilbo so bloodied. Then, after throwing everything in easy reach at the older Dwarrow, she'd finally gotten a look at sweet Emilia.

Maternal rage had taken over at that point.

She's not certain what she shouted, but a few times she'd heard Bilbo snort in amusement.

Prim had sent a silencing glare her way, but seeing the torn dress and bloody face sent her right back into ripping into the useless Archer and the damned incompetent Dwarven Prince.

The younger lad, Fíli, avoided her ire by being the one holding dear Emilia.

He'd stood braced and ready for any punishment she saw fit to give, but Prim didn't do anything other than usher him to the side where a privacy sheet was hung and her personal Healer was waiting.

The lad was back in a blink after handing her sister-in-law over. Still, Primula only nodded at him before continuing to voice her ire at his elders.

Óin, quite wisely, hadn't argued with Bilbo stepping behind the sheet to stay with their kin.

She was still shouting when Bilbo, now much less bloody, appeared from behind the hanging cloth to sit a much more calm and slightly amused Emilia on a pile of furs.

Then, much to Prim's surprise, she'd gone back behind the tent.

A Dam, one of Óin's helpers, had gone running a few minutes later, but returned quickly with a wrapped bundle and bucket of water.

Primula barely paid what the Healers were doing any mind, so caught up in her rage, but she stuttered into silence when familiar arms wrapped around her in a dearly missed embrace.

Where Bilbo's hands sat, one splayed across her stomach and the other just above her heart, Primula felt the touch of the Green Lady's power.

The pulse of the Lady's Blessing thrummed through her body, restoring the energy she'd lost in keeping all of her pregnancy symptoms hidden, and strengthening her connection to the babe still growing in her stomach.

Tears of relief rose and fell from her eyes.

Primula slumped, unable but so dearly wanting to voice her gratitude towards her cousin, and pressed into the welcoming warmth at her back.

“Peace, cousin. Take a breath of cool air before your throat spits fire.”

Primula couldn't hold back the snort of laughter at the familiar teasing lilt.

“I am hardly a Dragon, cousin,” she sniffed, happily ignoring the stunned and rapidly paling faces of the Dwarrow in front of her.

“Aye. A Dragon would just eat them as is. You like to tenderize your prey with a thorough lashing first.”

Snorting, Primula shoved blindly behind her.

She paused, head tilting to the side in confusion, when she touched the taunt skin of her cousin's stomach covered with sticky salve instead of soft fabric.

Turning, she gasped at Bilbo's appearance.

The Dam had apparently brought a change of clothes for her cousin.

In place of the bloodied and ripped dress, trousers the color of rich soil held up by a woven belt of black leather kept her legs covered. A wide breast band, just as black as the belt, contrasted starkly with the thick gauze wrapped just above her navel.

And though the limited attire was more than enough to keep her cousin within lines of propriety, it did nothing to hide the obvious loss of weight seen in the lines of her ribs or the angry bruises darkening pale skin.

Primula ripped her gaze back to the Dwarven fools with a snarl.

“Emilia has asked to report directly to you,” Bilbo cut in smoothly before Primula could even begin.

Instantly, her ire faded.

Prim swiveled around to look at her smaller kin.

The girl appeared calm now that the threat was gone, but she could still see the small wounds marring the just as small body.

Broken nails, bruising marks at her wrists, and a split lip spoke of her fight.

The ripped bodice told of another tale.

Primula swayed at the sudden surge of nausea rolling through her stomach.

A distressed flutter beneath her breast only added to her panic.

Bilbo was there before she even realized she needed her.

Her cousin steadied her, holding her weight easily, and pushed soothing energy through her hands into Primula's shivering frame.

“ _Did they..._ ” She couldn't bring herself to mention it. Not something so evil as it.

“ _Aside from the wounds from being dragged into the tent and pinned down, she has not been harmed,_ ” Bilbo replied instantly. Primula sagged in relief.

“Thank our Lady.”

Bilbo nodded in agreement, slowly pushing Primula towards the exhausted lass who was talking quietly to Fíli.

Surprisingly, the lad looked a bit pale and uneasy.

Primula rather thought he'd be pink and stuttering with Bilbo so exposed, but the glance loaded with both sadness and curiosity at Bilbo's back cured her of any confusion.

_Her scars_ , Primula remembered belatedly.

Sure enough, with a glance at the Archer and Prince when Bilbo turned her back to them, Primula was able to see the immediate reaction both had.

Primula couldn't blame them for paling and looking a bit concerned, but the sudden rage in the Prince's eyes was a bit of a surprise.

“Cousin,” Primula muttered, reaching up to pat the scars that crossed and overlapped continuously on Bilbo's back with a supportive smile. None of the Hobbits ever looked at her back with anything but love and devotion, but those who didn't know the story behind those jagged lines always reacted with pity or disgust. “I believe your scars have shocked them. Perhaps it would be best to air your wounds later.”

“Oh? I'd have thought Dwarrow would be used to seeing scars. The Dwarven Healer seemed to think no one would be bothered by them.” Bilbo shrugged dismissively, but Primula saw a flash of hesitation and uncertainty in her eyes. A gentle hum of unease trembled through the earth from Bilbo's Gift. Before Primula could soothe her cousin, a thin cloth blocked her vision.

It wasn't until the golden-brown fabric with a Dwarven pattern lining the edge settled over Bilbo's thin shoulders that she realized it was a tunic.

One that was usually worn by a young, stuttering Dwarf lad.

“We care for the stories behind them, but do not see anything wrong with scars.” The lad stood in front of Bilbo with a stupidly earnest expression that reminded Primula of Drogo when he'd first asked her to consider courting him. He adjusted the heavy fabric so it fell evenly over her smaller frame, but kept his hands close to Bilbo's own when they rose to grasp the edge of the fabric just beneath his palms. “But I do not wish you to grow ill from the night chill. I'd prevent it if I could.”

“Would you now?” Primula was certain her neck nearly snapped at the speed in which she looked up at Bilbo. The tone was not one she'd heard from her cousin before, but her ears knew _exactly_ what that tone meant when other Hobbit lasses, herself included, used it.

_No way_ , Prim wasn't sure if she wanted to faint or scream with overflowing joy and frustration. Because _of course_ Bilbo would finally show interest in someone during the only time she was unable to tease her for it.

Or sneak around observing her.

“I would.” If she didn't have Drogo, Prim was certain _she_ would be happy to flirt with the Dwarf if it guaranteed being gifted with such a charming grin. “So, please, accept this until we find something more suitable. Perhaps we could look into the personal bags you Hob–”

“No!” Primula and Bilbo said together. They glanced at one another a moment, but it was enough to communicate who was meant to continue.

“Apologies. A Hobbit's travel bag is considered private. We carry memories of home. Be it a book or a portrait, we each have something to remind us to continue on, and bring back to those waiting if the worst is to happen,” she explained softly. “Do not worry. Whatever will suffice.” Bilbo reached out to gently squeeze the startled Dwarf's hand. “Thank you for your help.”

“Whatever you need. I am at your service.”

Bilbo smiled warmly at the Dwarf, and Primula was sold.

If she was forced to negotiate in her fake position, she was going to do everything she could to somehow buy the Durin lad. She was going to bring that lad home for Bilbo if it was the last thing she did.

She doubted the shyly smiling Dwarf would put up much resistance.

Might even thank her.

“Your cousin will fall asleep if you don't hurry this along.” Primula tossed a scowl at the pompous Dwarf at her back for ruining a perfectly adorable moment. Bastard just didn't understand the importance of awkward flirting in the early stages of courtship.

Because they _were_ courting as far as Primula was concerned. Bilbo didn't flirt with _anyone_. The fact that she was openly flirting and teasing the lad held the same weight as a declared intent to court.

“Come along,” Prim sniffed, passing by a snickering Bilbo. She set a nasty glare on her cousin, but received only an innocent look in turn. The good humor fell away from them both when they knelt beside their sluggishly blinking cousin. “ _Hello, little one. The Lady weeps for your pain._ ”

Emilia's eyes instantly began watering, but she bit her quivering lip to keep any sobs from coming forth. Primula's heart hardened towards the bastard that attacked such an innocent soul.

“ _Could you tell us what happened?_ ”

“I–” Emilia paused, taking a deep breath to steady her shaking voice, and continued softly. “I was on my way back from the river when I realized I'd left something...important.” Emilia flushed at the raised eyebrow. Prim hummed in confusion, but the lass shook her head with reddening cheeks.

“Courting gift,” Bilbo said softly. Primula could only blink in astonishment. “Emilia agreed to a courtship before leaving home.”

“Why did I not know this? Or my husband?”

Bilbo set a firm look at her, reminding Prim once again that her cousin was the Baggins Head alongside being the Thain-Heir.

“Her courtship was brought to _me_ , the _Family Head_ , to decide upon. I approved the match, and she accepted his proposal. The first of the gifts has been given,” she explained with a tone that left no openings for further questions. “So, you left behind the anklet. You went back to get it.”

“I know I shouldn't have,” Emilia rushed to say. “I should have grabbed someone, or told one of the Dams who had been escorting us. If I had–”

“Then a Man out to be wicked would have still been wicked,” Bilbo said firmly, but kindly. “There is no fault in your actions. You are not at fault for the heinous actions of evil Men.”

Emilia trembled, wiping quickly at her eyes with a nod, and offered a watery smile to Bilbo.

“I went back for the courting gift,” she continued. “I had returned quickly, but everyone was already in the tent. When I made my way around to the entrance, someone grabbed me. It was the Man who you found pinning me. He lifted me off the ground, and carried me into that tent. I tried to scream, but he covered my mouth. I only realized there were others when I got inside.”

“Others,” Primula echoed with paling cheeks. “More than one Man attacked you?”

“Four.” Bilbo informed with a dark look at Frerin. “Only three are dead. The other will be dead long before sun up.”

Prim scowled, but said nothing. She knew the Man would be gone one way or another, but she wondered why the Dwarf Prince kept him alive.

“What happened after you were inside?” Prim made sure to keep the anger from her tone and expression. Emilia's night had been hard enough without her thinking those she loved were blaming her for what happened.

“He told me to hold still so he could gag me. He said if I screamed, he'd hurt me. I had been fighting him before that, but his hand kept me from screaming. I was planning on calling for B–” Emilia paused, eyes wide as her near mistake set in, and looked in worry between Bilbo and Frerin.

“For me,” Bilbo said without worry or concern, ignoring the twin curious stares aimed at her head from the Dwarrow at her back. “You were going to call me to you. He stopped you?”

“When he tossed me on the furs and blankets stored in the tent, I lost my breath. He'd tied a rope around my head to gag me before I could regain it. Still, I fought. That's how my bodice ripped. He'd tried to hold me down and it tore from his weight. I tried getting the gag off, but he slapped my hands away when I reached it. My lip was busted that way.” Emilia shivered, shaking with such force that the furs beneath her twitched as if alive, and blinked away tears.

“Take your time,” Primula soothed, sparing a glance at Bilbo. She was not at the same level of Flambard, but she was still skilled with sensing her cousin's emotional state. Despite her comforting expression and gentle crooning, rage was roaring through her blood to echo in the imprint of her Gift.

Primula didn't feel sorry for the bastard who would be answering to her cousin by the end of the night.

“Another Man, the one you killed with a mallet, told the other to be careful with me. He said that I needed to be kept in good condition for when the Silver Hobbit came looking,” Emilia whispered shakily.

Prim's eyes moved instantly to Bilbo. Her cousin, for all she looked undisturbed by the information, was shaken by the news.

“They harmed you to get to me.” Bilbo's tone, void of any emotion, snapped Emilia into action.

“It's not your fault!” Small hands grasped frantically at Bilbo's arms. “It's not! You'd never put us in danger. Not ever! So, please, please don't blame yourself.”

Bilbo sighed into the deafening silence, reaching out to curl strong fingers protectively around the head buried into her chest. Though her motions were gentle, her eyes were burning with an emotion so deep remnants of her buried Gift swirled within the silver pools.

Primula knew what that look meant.

Bilbo wasn't going to be waiting around for the Men to make another move.

She was going to confront them.

And nothing was going to stop her.

“Emilia, I think it would be best for you to go back to the tent and rest. Our kin must be worried, and you'll feel better having everyone with you.” Prim never moved her knowing gaze brimming with apprehension from her cousin. Emilia instantly picked up on it.

“You,” she stuttered out. “You're going to speak with the Men.”

“Aye. If they so badly wish to see me, I will grant them an appearance.” She shrugged, entirely uncaring for the spluttering behind her.

“You are not going to see the Men. This is a political matter–”

“ _You_ play your politics, Dwarf,” Bilbo responded instantly, tone snapping in reproach. “ _I_ will deal with the Men. It is a simple matter for a Hobbit. If someone harms or seeks to harm us, they die. Is it not the same for Dwarrow? Emli and her father killed those who harmed Memli. Why should I not do the same?”

Frerin scowled, crossing his arms as he glared Bilbo down.

Primula had to admit the Dwarf was just as brave as he was stupid. Not many could meet her cousin's glare and still look fierce.

“You are a guest to be cared for and protected by my army. I cannot allow you to just go out and kill every Man who looks at you the wrong way without spoiling the positive relations built between your people and mine.”

“A guest?” A bark of rough laughter escaped Bilbo. Primula sighed at the wild grin splitting her cousin's face. That look was pure Took. “I knew you were a fool, Dwarf. I did not take you to be delusional, too.”

The Dwarf bristled, but held himself back with obvious effort. Beside him, the Archer moved slowly to hold up placating hands.

“Guard, we do not mean to argue with you. The Man will pay for what he's done, but the other Men have done no wrong.”

“ _Cousin, they speak the truth. There is no reason for you to go speak to them this night._ ”

Bilbo shook her head. “ _There is. The Men of Dale do not intend to harm us, but the Men of the Lake do. They will have the perfect opportunity to do so in the Mountain Passes,_ ” she explained. “Given the chance, they will attack you or me. They cannot get to you without going through a wall of Dwarrow armed to the teeth and battle-tested. They cannot get to me without first capturing one of our kin and squirreling them away. Neither is easy to do. The Pass will change that. It is best to determine who wishes us harm tonight.”

Primula wanted to argue, but Frerin suddenly stiffened. His eyes widened just enough to be noticeable. A flash of realizaion hardened his gaze.

That alone told her Bilbo spoke true.

Her heart whirled with sudden fury.

She would _not_ allow her kin to be ambushed on those mountains.

Not again.

“We will go to the Men,” Primula stated, voice firm in mimicry of the way Bilbo spoke when arguing against High Elves of Lord Elrond's court. “My Guard will escort Emilia to the rest of our kin. Meanwhile, call the Men together. I will speak with them.”

“I must–”

“Now,” Primula growled over the Archer, standing to her full height with eyes blazing for a fight. “Gather them. If you do not, I will have my Guard drag them one by one before me. If you cannot keep your Men in line, _I_ will.”

-LoSF-

For all that the Dwarrow of Erebor claimed him to have the keenest eyes and instincts in the mountain, Víli could honestly say he had not seen the night turning out in such a way.

In fact, there were a lot of things he hadn't seen coming.

He hadn't thought to find the protective Hobbit Guard dripping with the blood of her enemies as she guarded her kin.

He didn't expect to see scars like silver lines rippling across a pale back.

Víli certainly hadn't anticipated the Thain-Heir herself calling the Men to attention for a dressing down.

And a dressing down it was.

She'd started with a polite smile, but quickly fell into her fury as words brimming with outrage fell from her scowling lips.

The Men of Dale were present, but hadn't been addressed.

The Men of Lake-town, however, had been called out within minutes.

Frerin and Fíli stood silently at his side as the Thain-Heir continued reprimanding the Men for nefarious plots against the Hobbits.

She was a whirlwind that wouldn't let up for even a moment as she dragged them through the coals until all dignity was burned away.

All that was left was spiteful hatred.

And it was all directed at the Thain-Heir.

“Why the hell are ye out here shrieking at us? We ain't the ones who went after the wee bitch.” The surliest looking of the Men finally had enough and took a few steps forward to be seen by the fire's flickering light.

The Thain-Heir tensed, but didn't back away as the Man hoped.

Instead, much to Víli's displeasure, she stepped closer.

“No, but you plan to.”

“You accusing us of somethin'?”

“I'm only speaking the truth. There are forty Dwarrow and forty Men who ambushed us all those wees ago. All the Dwarrow are from Erebor. Twenty Men from Dale. Twenty Men from the Lake. Of those, nine Men from the Lake are dead. My Guard has made sure of that.”

Víli grimaced as everyone glanced to Frerin for confirmation, but his brother didn't show any reaction despite the claim being true.

The Guard had apparently done a number on the Man.

The wound at his throat was deep, but could heal if cared for. The scratches earned from the Hobbit's sharp nails could also heal if given time.

The wound from her lashing feet, however, was beyond aide.

A single kick managed to snap a rib in just the right place.

He was dead by the time Nori dragged the bastard into an empty tent. Óin said something vital had been pierced from a broken rib, but no one had cared enough to really look into it.

He was dead.

That's all that mattered.

“That so? And what's your point? We ain't responsible for what they did,” he growled, cracking his knuckles as he stared down the tiny woman.

She was, unsurprisingly, completely unimpressed with his attempt at intimidation.

Still, Víli tensed at the clear agitation in the Man's body language. He was standing far too close to the woman, so there was a chance she'd be injured if he chose to attack before they could stop him.

“Fr-Sir,” Víli mumbled under his breath, remembering at the last second how good Hobbit hearing was. Though he didn't yet see her, he had no doubt the Guard was closing in. “He's too close.”

“Stay where you are. She told us not to intervene unless asked.”

Though he subsided with a nod, he made sure to keep his hands near a few throwing daggers secured in some hidden pockets. He'd kill the Man if he touched the Thain-Heir, but hoped it wouldn't come to that.

“No, but I have no doubt you've been plotting along with them.” She sounded so certain that Víli wondered if she knew something they did not. “And along with them you'll fall if you continue the same path. Harm to any Hobbit will not be tolerated.”

Víli shifted the moment the Man lunged forward, but the Thain-Heir was holding her hand out in a silent order to remain back before the Man even pressed into her space with a snarl.

“You threatening us? A mite bitch of a woman? Hear that fellas?” He turned, grinning widely with just a touch of insanity at his friends. Two stepped forward, laughing as they tossed insults at the Thain-Heir, and circled the pair.

“No. I'm promising you,” she snarled right back. “Every Man who lays a hand upon a Hobbit will die. If you wish to test that, then go ahead and try to touch me. I must warn you, however, you may not recover.”

“Cocky little–”

Before Víli could react to the Man's raised hand shooting towards the Thain-Heir's face, the coward recoiled with a scream, grasping the bleeding hand with his other.

His two friends rushed to his side, helping him up as they all stared in astonishment at the injury.

A sharp stone, barely the size of an acorn, was buried into the center of his palm.

“I warned you,” the Thain-Heir said over the ruckus, turning her back to those who wished her harm as she moved to pass by Frerin with a cold look. “These Men wish us harm. My Guard will act as she must.”

“Hey,” the shortest of the three Men yelled, rushing forward in an angry stride to reach Thain-Heir. “What the hell did y–” He cut off with a yelp, stumbling back as a stone ricocheted off his head.

“I do hope you have more sense than your companions.” The Guard's voice rose over the noise, causing Men and Dwarrow alike to jump and stumble out of the way. She walked forward, eyes locked on the Man who'd yet to throw anything other than insults, and grinned. “Those were the last of the pebbles I had on me. I'll need to resort to more painful measures if you try anything.”

The Man paled.

Nodding in approval at his lack of action, the Guard glanced at the Hobbits' Thain-Heir.

“I see they've chosen to show a desire to harm Hobbits.”

The Guard placed herself at Thain-Heir's back, keeping herself between her cousin and the Men, and offered a smile forged of steel and ice.

“Yes,” she answered, not bothering to turn. “I've grown tired of their behavior. Since these three have expressed a desire to fight, you have my permission to teach them some manners.”

Víli wasn't surprised when the Men faltered under such a blood-hungry gaze.

“Aye,” she grinned broadly, looking more Dwarf than Hobbit with Fíli's tunic now belted around her waist and tight braids pulling her hair back. “For any who wish to, I would be happy to spar.”

None of the Men moved.

Even if the remaining Men of the Lake thought they could take her down by working together, all the Men and Dwarrow present shifted to easily reach their weapons and stared them down.

The message was clear.

If anyone made a move towards the Hobbit women, they'd be dead before they could take a step.

“Good. I'm glad to know you can be reasonable,” Thain-Heir said into the tense silence. “Let me be clear. My Guard has been given permission by she who governs the Hobbits to _end all threats_. Make a move, and she will retaliate. I assure you, you won't survive crossing her,” she warned, stepping into the parting crowd with the most dangerous being in the entire company at her back while her final words floated back to them.

“No one ever has.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for Next Chapter
> 
> -LoSF-
> 
> The morning carried on as usual, though with four less mouths to feed and a clear divide in the Men, but Bilbo could not shake a growing sense of dread as they continued towards the Mountain Pass.
> 
> With the Misty Mountains crying out to her in pain at the Goblins living with her belly, she was already tense and concentrating heavily on her Gift.
> 
> It was for that reason that she was able to feel something foul vibrating through the stone.
> 
> The Green Lady was calling out, but it was faint. The Mountains were too tainted for her to be heard clearly, and the Stone Father was only able to send her a cold sense of foreboding before having to withdraw from the poisonous land.
> 
> Something was going to happen.
> 
> She was certain of it, but had no idea what to look for.
> 
> “The stone feels sick,” the Young Dwarf, who had been ordered to her side to get a feel for the paths, muttered with a concerned frown.
> 
> “The Mountains are infested with Goblins,” she explained, eyes snapping to where all of her kin were placed on Hobbit wagons. Golden One had ordered it after only an hour of watching them struggle across the rough terrain. The Hobbits had been grateful for the shuffling of goods to give them all much needed rest, but Bilbo's sense of wrong had spiked as they climbed up. “I'm sure you are sensing them.”
> 
> The lad frowned even more deeply. He cast a concerned eye to the Hobbits, and Bilbo was suddenly hit with the realization that the boy must feel the stone trying to warn him that something was wrong.
> 
> “What is it? You look worried.”
> 
> “Ah,” he sighed, blue eyes glancing around as if worried they'd be overheard. “I feel as though something bad is going to happen,” he explained quietly. “I'm not sure why. It's just a feeling I can't shake.”
> 
> Bilbo nodded, but didn't voice her opinion on the matter. She was worried herself about what was ahead, but was also concerned about those who were nearby.
> 
> The Master's Men were on edge and angry.
> 
> Something twisted thrummed beneath their steps.
> 
> It was more than just dark thoughts.
> 
> More than anger.
> 
> There was something more.
> 
> Something that had touched them.
> 
> Something pure evil.
> 
> And the ring hidden away in a secret pocket inside the breast band burned when near those Men.


	11. ELEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope everyone is safe and well!

-LoSF-

The morning carried on as usual, though with four less mouths to feed and a clear divide in the Men, but Bilbo could not shake a growing sense of dread as they continued towards the Mountain Pass.

With the Misty Mountains crying out to her in pain at the Goblins living within her belly, she was already tense and concentrating heavily on her Gift.

It was for that reason that she was able to feel something foul vibrating through the stone.

The Green Lady was calling out, but it was faint. The Mountains were too tainted for her to be heard clearly, and the Stone Father was only able to send her a cold sense of foreboding before having to withdraw from the poisonous land.

Something was going to happen.

She was certain of it, but had no idea what to look for.

“The stone feels sick,” the Young Dwarf, who had been ordered to her side to get a feel for the paths, muttered with a concerned frown.

“The Mountains are infested with Goblins,” she explained, eyes snapping to where _all_ of her kin were placed on Hobbit wagons further back. Golden One had ordered it after only an hour of watching them struggle across the rough terrain. The Hobbits had been grateful for the shuffling of goods to give them all much needed rest, but Bilbo's sense of _wrong_ had spiked as they climbed up. “I'm sure you are sensing them.”

The lad frowned even more deeply. He cast a concerned eye to the Hobbits, and Bilbo was suddenly hit with the realization that the boy must feel the stone trying to warn him that something was wrong.

“What is it? You look worried.”

“Ah,” he sighed, blue eyes glancing around as if worried they'd be overheard. “I feel as though something bad is going to happen,” he explained quietly. “I'm not sure why. It's just a feeling I can't shake.”

Bilbo nodded, but didn't voice her opinion on the matter. She was worried herself about what was ahead, but was also concerned about those who were nearby.

The Master's Men were on edge and angry.

Something twisted thrummed beneath their steps.

It was more than just dark thoughts.

More than anger.

There was something _more_.

Something that had touched them.

Something pure evil.

And the ring hidden away in a secret pocket inside the breast band _burned_ when near them.

Almost as if the little magic ring had an awareness to it as well.

An awareness of evil.

“How are your wounds?” The Dwarf at her side fidgeted as he spoke. His eyes moved back and forth in observation of the land, but Bilbo noticed that blue gaze always returned to her for a brief moment before skittering away. Almost as if he worried for her reaction to his curiosity.

She couldn't quite hide her amused smile.

“Fine,” she answered honestly. “The scratches on my face will be gone in a few days. The one at my side will take a bit longer, but doesn't hinder my movements.”

He turned to her, reaching out absentmindedly to raise a low branch hanging close to her head as she walked under it, and studied the marks on her face.

He looked surprised.

“They seem much better than last night.”

“Hobbits heal quickly.” She didn't tell him it was their connection to the Green Lady upon untainted soil that allowed them to borrow the earth's strength to recover faster. If she had tapped deep enough, her wounds would be no more than shallow scrapes. But that would have required a deeper connection, and she couldn't risk such a disconnected meditation with her kin being targeted. “Do Dwarrow?”

“Faster than Men, but not Elves,” he answered after a moment of thought. “I believe Hobbits heal faster than us. I'm glad for it.”

“Oh?”

“Aye.” A flush started up the Dwarf's neck. He coughed, looking away from her curious expression, and rubbed at his chin in a nervous gesture. “It means you've recovered quickly. I'm glad you aren't in pain.”

Despite the rush of warmth at his admission, Bilbo only a allowed a bewildered smile to show on her face.

“Thank you, but I find it odd you Dwarrow and Men of Dale care for our well-being when we are to be slaves.”

He stuttered out a denial at her casual words, but did not respond more than that.

Bilbo fell silent beside him as they continued their trek up the rocky path leading to the trail they'd chosen to see them through the Misty Mountains.

Guilt at putting such a frustrated expression on the Young Dwarf's face gnawed at her, but she wasn't sure why. She'd often used pleasant words and false confusion to gather the information she needed.

Sometimes, feelings were hurt in the process.

It never bothered her before, but something about the Dwarf was different.

But she couldn't apologize for upsetting him.

Not when their limited time alone together could very well be the best chance she had at getting information.

She wasn't sure if Archer or Golden One would appear at some point, but the Young One had said they were to walk in front of everyone until he was certain the path was the safest one.

If he didn't, Bilbo was to show him a different trail until one was found.

Unfortunately, the path ahead _was_ the safest one.

And even it was not entirely risk-free.

Not according to the whispering stone and trembling earth.

“You and your kin are not to be slaves.” The sudden intensity of the Dwarf's voice made Bilbo jolt in surprise. The stone beneath his feet thrummed solidly with the truth of his words.

“Just captives?” Her tone was hesitant, unsure of if she should continue prodding the lad for more information, and she tugged nervously at her braid. It was something she hadn't done since before Bungo passed. It irritated her that she was doing it now.

“No. That's not exactly right.” He seemed pained as he watched her. A gusty sigh escaped him in frustration. “I wish to soothe your worries, but I cannot speak of why you are with us. Just know that you and your kin are to be protected above all else. We do not mean you harm.”

Bilbo frowned. The words of the Dwarven Leader from the night before echoed through her mind. She'd been furious to hear him say something so outrageous, but the lad truly believed the Hobbits weren't meant to be harmed.

Perhaps the Golden One had been speaking the truth.

Still, that didn't change that the Hobbits were being held against their will.

“Guests,” Bilbo murmured. “That is what your Leader called us. Though we did not wish for or accept an invitation.”

The Dwarf blew out a slow breath. He bowed his head with a defeated sigh. “Aye, but guests you are all the same.”

“I see. And the Men? The ones who wish us harm. Should we consider them courteous hosts?”

“No.” His answer was instant and serious despite her sarcastic tone. “The Men were sent here by order of the Master of Lake-town. King Bard spoke against their involvement, but no reason to turn them away. It would have been seen as an insult to the people of Lake-town. Despite how foul those Men are, the true people of Lake-town are good folk of deep compassion who we trade with regularly. It would not be good for our relationship with them to sour by refusing the Men the Master chose to represent them.”

Bilbo hummed in understanding, but her mind was whirling.

From what the lad said, there was some sort of agreement to hunt for the Hobbits. If representatives were being chosen, that confirmed it was by order of the crown. The Men would not have sent anyone if it had been a personal mission.

But if the King of Erebor had used the alliance to call for aide, the neighboring settlements couldn't have easily refused.

The Master of the Lake sending such wicked men, however, made it seem like he wished for the King's mission to fail.

_Whatever his mission with the Hobbits may be_ , Bilbo thought sourly, her stomach rolling as her worry grew.

Because if that were all true, it meant the little army marched directly to their traveling route to ambush them.

They had been ready and waiting for the Hobbits.

Which meant only one thing.

“I understand the politics behind this,” she began, eyes narrowing on the Dwarf beside her, “but I do not understand how your company was able to ambush my caravan. Our route has been hidden and undisturbed for thirty years. In all my years, I have never seen a Dwarf on it. So, how do you explain knowing our location without any prior knowledge?”

The Dwarf flinched, but said nothing.

Bilbo was glad he didn't.

It meant he wasn't willing to lie to her.

Her heart warmed.

“I do not mean to cause you grief. I am only speaking my thoughts freely,” she said softly in the manner she usually only used when addressing her young kin. “It is obvious someone has betrayed the Thain's trust. Only our Thain can allow outsiders entry into our sanctuary. I can count the individuals he's granted such an honor to on one hand. If they did not betray us directly, it was someone close to one we trusted who told you Dwarrow how to find us.”

Bilbo wasn't surprised when the Dwarf only stared ahead with a tense expression. She hadn't expected him to answer.

“It's alright.” She reached out without thinking, fingers catching the edge of his coat sleeve, and tugged gently to bring his attention back to her. “Like I said, I'm only speaking freely. I've suspected as much for a long time. Flambard and I have spoken in depth about it, but we have no guesses as to who betrayed us. It is frustrating when I cannot solve difficult riddles, but I always find the answers in the end.”

The Young Dwarf looked at her hand, staring a moment at where her fingers still carefully held his sleeve, and offered a small grin when he dragged his eyes to her face.

“You like riddles?”

“Yes,” she said, taking her hand back. “It is one of my hobbies. My father used to ask me. He knew many from books, but was fond of making his own. I would spend days trying to find the right answer to those.”

“Hobbies,” he echoed, sounding truly interested even as he concentrated on his surroundings with a critical eye. Bilbo didn't blame him. The sense of wrong was only growing with every step they took. “I didn't think you'd have any hobbies outside of guarding your kin?”

“Plenty,” she snorted in reply.

“Like solving riddles?”

“And taking the ponies for long runs, reading any book I can grasp, combat and weapons training, cooking and baking,” she listed with a widening grin. “I enjoy dancing, but I don't like to sing in front of people. My mother was said to have a voice that could compete with the passion of Dwarrow and beauty of Elves, but she danced more like Men.”

“She sounds entertaining,” he said honestly, a curious look on his face. “Would dancing be your favorite hobby to partake in?”

“No. That would be embroidery.”

“Embroidery?” The Dwarf tripped in his surprise. Only the sure grip of a steady hand grasping his arm saved him from meeting the dirt. Bilbo hauled him up with little effort and an amused grin.

“Yes. Is it that shocking?”

“Well, I honestly thought your hobbies would include traveling to towns of Men to relieve them of an infestation of honorless bastards. Embroidery does sound lovely, though.”

Bilbo couldn't help but laugh loudly at his gaping expression despite knowing such a reaction would catch the attention of those nearby. Truly, she hadn't meant to stun him. She just wanted to ease away the lines of worry creasing his face.

“It is one of the few interests I shared with my mother. She loved lace, but I have my own favorites,” she said, sighing as she thought of the blanket she spent months crafting. It was safely tucked into one of the many bags in the back of a Hobbit wagon. Though, as she thought about it, the bags had been distributed among the Men of Dale and Dwarrow of Erebor to make room for her kin. Bilbo didn't think anyone would open the sack, but she worried over where it was. It wouldn't do for a Dwarf to see the blanket and make a connection to her sire. “All my favorite creations are blue and silver, but cloths of red-purple tend to catch my eye. Pearls, however, do not compare to any other material I use.”

“Pearls?” His gaze turned thoughtful.

“Yes,” she answered, a touch of confusion in her voice at his reaction. “I've found a few on my own before, but most I've acquired through trade. Did you think Hobbits wouldn't work with jewels?”

“Ah, well, I hadn't thought about it. I was told Hobbits do not care overly much for gold or jewels.”

“Partly true,” she shrugged. “Hobbits care for the earth and all it grows. We look at jewels the same way we look at flowers. Where flowers are the jewels of the earth, jewels are the flowers of the stone. We find both beautiful, but Hobbits are meant to be the gardeners of the earth. Dwarrow are the gardeners of the stone.”

“I think I understand,” he said after a minute. He looked to her with eyes equal parts curious and cautious. “I've learned much about you this morning, yet I still don't know your name.”

“You do not.”

“Will I ever learn it?”

“Will I,” she fired right back.

He grinned, but it was easy to see the grimace beneath. “I am unable to give it, though I wish for you to know it. The same way I wish to know.”

Bilbo hummed, but didn't reply.

She was only slightly surprised when he didn't give up.

“Perhaps a nickname?”

“I thought I was honored with 'Wild One' and 'Hobbit Guard' by your leader?” The tone suggested she was anything but honored.

“You are a good guard, brilliant one, really, but you are more than just your occupation. And his bestowing of the other name was just wounded ego,” the lad explained with a look of exasperation. Something told her Golden One decided on nicknames in such a manner often. “Your kin began to call you something last night. 'B' belongs to your name?”

“Perhaps,” Bilbo answered, casting her gaze back at her kin to both assure herself of their safety and get away from such a hopeful expression.

“I see. Still, I can't assume if it is your name, or your family name she nearly called. And just calling you 'B' sounds odd.”

Bilbo rather thought anything he called her would sound nice. With the way his accent rolled the sound, turning a soft note rough, even an unpleasant name would be lovely.

Though, she was not going to tell him so.

“I thought perhaps 'Bee' for the small creatures that fly to flowers and make honey,” he continued.

“The Men call me 'Silver',” she offered.

“I would not call you by anything they do.” He sounded offended and hurt, but carried on before she could soothe the agitation from his gaze. “You have been named Wild One, Hobbit Guard, and Silver One, but you are no Bee. It is too soft a name for you compared to those.”

Bilbo looked to him, pinning him with her gaze, but did not offer anything. If the lad wanted to make a name for her, it would be fine. She wouldn't be giving him ideas, however.

But it seemed as though he had an idea of his own. The sound of triumph and proud grin blooming on his face suggested he rather liked whatever he came up with.

“Sting.” He nodded as if doing so made it final.

“Sting,” she echoed in surprise.

“Aye. I find it suits you well.”

Bilbo wanted to ask how, but the sudden burst of fondness in his gaze while he looked at her tied her tongue.

Warmth climbed her neck to heat her cheeks, but she turned quickly hoping he wouldn't notice.

The expression he wore, a joyful hope rippling over pride and affection, told her it had been in vain.

“Do you like it?”

Bilbo nodded, not fully trusting her voice, and glanced to her kin to bring her focus to anything beside her pounding heart.

They were still doing fine, but all of them looked a little pale due to their connection to their Lady. Though they could not feel the sickness upon the stone, they were able to feel the bits of vegetation scattered sparingly here and there were all struggling to survive.

It was an unpleasant feeling.

Bilbo was glad they couldn't feel both the stone and the earth the way she could.

They'd probably end up looking as nauseous as the Dwarf driving the final wagon.

Nordin had looked increasingly unwell the closer they got to the mountain. His dark skin was a touch pale, voice a bit strained, and movements somewhat stiff.

She'd noticed instantly along with the other Hobbits, but it appeared none of the Dwarrow had.

_If they have_ , Bilbo thought with a deep frown, _they have decided to ignore his pain._

“Has he offended you?” The voice at her side turned troubled and angry. Bilbo looked to the lad in surprise, eyes wide at the change in tone. He offered a smile, but his eyes were heavy on Nordin. Heavy enough, it would seem, to catch the Dwarf's attention. Bilbo returned his friendly wave, but the Dwarf beside her scowled. “If he's provoked you somehow, tell me. I'll make sure he doesn't trouble you.”

“What,” she asked in surprise. “Trouble me? He's done nothing of the sort.”

He didn't look convinced. “You've been looking to him when your eyes seek your kin. Your frown grows each time.”

Bilbo sighed, shaking her head at the suspicious nature of Dwarrow. “I only worry for him. He seems unwell. I believe Nordin has a strong Stone Sense. He grows paler every step closer to the mountain.”

“Nordin? You know his name?”

Bilbo looked to him in reproach. “Truly? I say your kin in unwell, and you focus on the fact that I know his name?” At least he had the grace to look sheepish. “I wouldn't allow my kin on a wagon driven by someone I didn't even know the name of. How would I properly call to warn the driver of danger?”

“Ah.” He ducked his head slightly, rubbing at his neck with a bashful grin. “Forgive me. I didn't mean to sound so uncaring. It is only that many have trouble with that Dwarf, so I was worried. I do not know him well, so I cannot tell if he is ill or not. If he has a strong Stone Sense, however, it would explain why he kept checking the wagon before we left. Stone that whispers of danger tends to make a Dwarf be extra thorough with his tasks.”

Bilbo had to agree. She suspected the Dwarf felt something wrong with his surroundings when he circled the wagon for the fifth time to check the wheels. It had surprised her enough to make her check on the wagon herself, but there was nothing wrong.

He'd smiled when she assured him as much, but it had been one forced into place. Nordin looked as though he would have confided something in her after she voiced her concern for him, but he'd gone silent and turned away in the same moment Archer appeared at her back.

Bilbo hadn't been certain if it was because what he wished to say was a personal matter, or if it had to do with Archer glaring at the younger Dwarf. Either way, she'd stepped away without hearing his thoughts.

She made sure to keep an eye on him afterwards, however. It was in doing so that she became certain he was ill or having trouble blocking the sickness of the stone from his senses.

It was, after all, an overwhelming thing.

Bilbo remembers having to be carried through sick lands in her younger years due to having very little control. She'd been fortunate enough to find someone who could help her build walls against her stone sense, but it appeared Nordin hadn't been so lucky.

Seeing as he was Dwarf who lived with plenty of Dwarrow around, it was odd that he hadn't been taught.

Though, based on what the Young Dwarf said, she doubted anyone would have offered to do so.

“Why is he not looked to well within this company?”

“Truly, it has more to do with his kin,” he mumbled quietly, blue eyes suddenly far away in memory. “I was young at the time, but an incident happened between his clan and a noble family of Erebor. Many Dams were distraught over the incident being brought up by another of his clan years later, so it hasn't ever been talked about somewhere I could hear.”

“Oh? So he's being held accountable for the crimes of his kin?”

Bilbo's tone lost all warmth, and sympathy swelled within her heart for Nordin.

She, too, knew what is was like to be held accountable for the crimes of kin.

To be persecuted for actions done before your birth.

Her body bore the marks of such senseless hatred.

Her soul, and what innocence that remained within her, bore just as many.

“Well, it's not exactly like that. Everyone knows his clan likes to stir trouble among the royal family, so it is best to be cautious around him,” he hurried to say. He seemed confused when Bilbo only gave him a frosty look.

“If that is so, then he _is_ being treated unfairly for crimes not his own.”

“No, that isn't true. He isn't being treated poorly. The Dwarf is always smiling and laughing. And he hasn't been charged or–”

“One doesn't need to be charged with the crimes of their kin to bare the punishment of them,” she snapped, the weight of her shackles suddenly feeling much heavier as memories of another time she was forced into them bore down on her. “It is obvious that Dwarf has been treated unfairly since the first day I spoke to him. I had wondered about Archer's sudden aggression towards him, but thought it to be personal between the two.”

“Well, I–”

“Even if Nordin's kin caused trouble, he himself has done no wrong. If Dwarrow truly think in such ways, then the entirety of the Royal Family should be held accountable for the malicious persecution of Hobbits at the unwarranted order of their Mad King!”

The lad flinched at her tone and the harsh echo of her voice being distorted into a wordless rumble by the high cliffs surrounding them. He turned to face her, hands twitching as if wanting to reach out and soothe the tense anger from her body, and held her blistering gaze with a troubled one.

“That is not the same,” he said, but seemed uncertain.

“It is,” she countered, ears twitching at the boots swiftly approaching from behind. She had little doubt who it would be. With Golden One attached to Primula's side in order to personally guard her through the passes, that left only one other who would come to her without hesitation. “You just do not wish to see it, because then you'd have to accept responsibility for your own behavior towards someone wrongfully persecuted. It's easier to deny something exists, rather than face your own accountability for acting in shallow ignorance.”

“Hey, now,” Archer called, voice light with reprimand and heavy with concern. “I'm not sure what's going on, but that's a little harsh.”

“How very Dwarven to decide, speak, and judge on a matter they know nothing about.”

“Whoa, there,” he said softly, walking to stand just to the side of them both. “I've only just arrived, so don't start lecturing me for whatever this one has done.”

“Dwarrow can withstand the scolding of a mere Hobbit, I'm sure.” Her gaze slid to the Archer, but the glare did not lessen.

“Aye, but it doesn't mean we have to find such anger pleasant when we are presented with it.”

“I agree. I wouldn't think anyone would enjoy being greeted with the anger of another for no justifiable reason,” she said pointedly to the Young Dwarf looking more and more like a kicked puppy rather than a Dwarven warrior. Her heart gave a traitorous twinge, but the stronger part cried out for the injustice the blameless Dwarf was forced to face daily with a smile. “Still, sometimes it is easier to act as though such anger doesn't bother you. When you're already being met with hatred for simply existing, it makes it hard to counter. Those around you will use any retaliation or defense as grounds to justify their behavior without having to be held accountable for it.”

“What around you talking about?” The Archer was starting to look even more concerned, but Bilbo ignored him to glare down the wide-eyed lad in front of her.

“Just because someone is always smiling, as you pointed out, doesn't mean they are happy and accepting of ill treatment. It's a shallow assumption made with little thought.”

She turned, no longer wishing to walk with the Dwarf in her current mood, and began walking towards the Dwarrow not far away trying and failing to look as though they hadn't been doing their best to inch closer to hear.

“We have walked far enough on this path for you to determine that it is the safest. Your leader wished for me to return to my kin once it was confirmed, so I will take my leave.”

“I'm sorry. I did not mean to make you angry,” he said quickly, making her pause.

“I am not the one you owe an apology to,” she replied, glancing at his downcast expression with unwavering resolve. “I do not know you well, Master Dwarf, but I feel as though I should expect better from you.” He flinched, but this time no rush of sympathy came. Growing fondness aside, her head and heart knew the Dwarf could do better.

“You strike me as the type of Dwarf who will grow to be someone who commands and is readily obeyed. Think of the example you've been setting by following the actions of those not worthy to lead without bothering to question them. Then, Master Dwarf, I will accept your apology. For now, however, there is a sick Dwarf who needs my attention.”

Silence followed her retreat.

-LoSF-

The air had grown colder as the company trekked further into the Misty Mountains. Though the Dwarrow were not bothered by the elements and the Men had fitted themselves properly at the start of their journey, the Hobbits were not so prepared.

They pressed together in the back of the wagons, doing what they could to keep the cold wind from touching the youngest of them. With heads bowed together and bodies nearly atop one another in effort to conserve heat, the small people looked even smaller.

Unsurprisingly, the Hobbit Guard stood her ground even against the chill.

She moved between the wagons without fear of slipping from the path despite the powerful gusts pelting the company.

The paths themselves, though wide enough for wagons, were still narrow enough that a single slip could lead to a tragic end. Hobbit wagons, after all, were far more compact than one built by a Man or Dwarf.

The fact that the edge was cracked and crumbling in spots didn't help to give any sense of safety.

A Dwarf would be able to avoid such treacherous rock, but a Hobbit didn't have such senses.

Víli couldn't help but worry for the small lass.

Even if he was a little agitated at her for causing his son such grief.

Fíli had explained what the argument was over as best he could, but the lad was too confused and hurt by having his One angry with him to really think clearly on the matter.

Víli, however, heard the message beneath.

Someone had no doubt harmed the Guard for something she was in no way responsible for.

Harmed her enough that even the pull of Ones hadn't been strong enough to sway her anger in the face of Fíli's distress.

Víli understood that kind of hurt.

The type that went beyond skin to place heavy, ever bleeding scars on the soul.

His heart ached at knowing she'd been wronged so terribly.

And it filled with guilt in realizing he himself was guilty of the same treatment to Nordin that the lass accused Fíli of.

In his case, however, it was born from a personal grudge against the Dwarf's uncle. One that would one day end in blood.

Nordin had nothing to do with his grudge, but Víli could admit to being mistrustful and uncaring towards the lad in the same way most of the company were.

The Guard, much to his personal annoyance, spoke true. They treated Nordin as an outcast because of the actions of his kin.

Nordin, however, was innocent of any crime.

Víli was forced to acknowledge it, even if it soured his stomach.

“The Hobbit Guard seems particularly fierce today,” Frerin mumbled, walking slowly to him after calling for a brief halt to switch the ponies.

“Aye,” he nodded, shifting his gaze to the woman. “I'm sure Nori already gave you the details.”

Frerin grimaced in sympathy. Though the Elder Prince of Erebor didn't have a One of his own, having never felt the a draw towards anything other than the craft that so utterly defined him, he knew very well how badly a Dwarf could be harmed when their One turned from them in anger.

Fíli, being young and still new to the connection with his One, took every sharp word like a torturer's skimming blades.

He would bounce back quickly, but would only heal if he gathered his courage enough to go and speak with the lass he'd been avoiding since the early morning.

“She seems to feel very strongly about the Blacklock lad,” Frerin noted with a curious look to the lass.

“That would be Blackbeard, Master Dwarf.” Both Dwarrow looked up the the scowling occupant of the wagon beside them. Thain-Heir fixed them with a particularly icy stare beneath the hood of a heavy Dwarven cloak. “He is a Blackbeard. A branch of that Blacklocks clan you mentioned.”

“Ah. Yes. And how did you know of this?”

“He introduced himself to us Hobbits. Very polite lad. Unlike some I've met.” The look she gave Frerin left no room to doubt just who she meant. “He prefers to go by Blackbeard, since his bloodline is so heavily mixed. If you cannot even call him as he prefers, I do not believe my cousin will be cooling down.”

Víli sighed, knowing she was right, and moved to her when she motioned for his help to get off the wagon. Frerin grumbled in frustration, but didn't argue. Instead, he called for the Thain-Heir's Dwarven Guards to escort her further away while another Dwarf worked on switching the ponies.

“I see your point, Hobbit. Now, go rest against the rocks. The last thing we need is you getting swept away. The Guard will behead us all.”

The lass laughed, walking away carefully with a firm grip on the Dam leading her, and shot a fond smile in the direction of her cousin.

“She's right,” Víli said quietly. “We have been taking out the actions of his kin on him.”

“Aye. His elders have always caused us trouble when they've appeared. His sister, since coming to Erebor, has jumped from one scandal to the next, and we do not need anything more to happen for us to harbor hatred towards his uncle.”

“And the lad? What has he done,” Víli pressed.

A beat of silence.

“Nothing,” he answered quietly. “As the trend seems to be, the Hobbit Guard is right.”

They both looked to the Hobbit further away speaking quietly to her kin. She'd been rushing between the wagons to give each Hobbit something to eat, a pack bulging with food slung over her shoulder and several wetskins tied around the leather belt at her waist, and soothing the ponies with each passing.

The beasts had been growing more and more agitated the deeper into the mountains they got. Something the Hobbit Guard and Nordin shared with them.

Víli had first noticed the similar behavior while observing their interactions from afar. They tensed, flinched, and grew silent as if listening to something far off in the same moments. Both reacted to crumbling stones in the same instance. And, surprisingly, both held similar features.

Despite how one was obvious a Dwarf and the other a Hobbit, they had the same eye shape, cheekbones, and mouth. They shifted the same way when walking, and their eyes crinkled the same way when smiling. Though one head was silver and the other black, the curls were both loose compared the the tight curls of the other Hobbits.

It was a curious thing that he wouldn't have noticed if not for the doubt he'd already been carrying.

The doubt that the Hobbit Guard was simply a Hobbit.

And that she was merely a Guard.

“You seem to carry troubles, Víli. Would you share them?”

Víli considered Frerin a moment before nodding. “Fíli did not fill Nori in on everything the lass and he talked about.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. She spoke of her parents to him.”

Frerin choked beside him, coughing roughly into his hand while shifting ever so slightly.

Víli's suspicions and doubts only grew stronger.

“Did she?”

“Aye. No names, but she spoke of them. Her father reminds me of the lad I used to know.”

“The Baggins lad?”

Víli nodded, throat tightening in sorrow.

“Víli, the boy went missing from the Blue Mountains months before the Hobbits fled. You said yourself he never returned from a hunting trip into the woods. His home was completely untouched since the morning you saw him off.”

“I know.” His voice was rough. He made an effort to clear it when he saw Fíli slowly making his way over. “I know, brother. Still, she is so very like him. And the way she described her father, the interests he had, they are the same as his.”

“I do not think her father is who you hope it to be,” Frerin said gently, but with certainty. It was such a heavy certainty that Víli looked at him in suspicion.

“And how would you know?”

Frerin startled, looking surprised by the intensity of Víli's stare, and backed away with a twitchy shrug.

“Ah, well, it just seems unlikely. I do not wish you to get your hopes up, brother. That is all.”

He was gone before Víli could call him out on such a blatant excuse.

“What was that about,” Fíli asked, watching Frerin's retreating form with confusion.

“Nothing important for the moment. What did you need?”

“Ah.” His son suddenly looked unsure. He shuffled his feet and rubbed at his chin, things he only did when truly nervous, before meeting his gaze. “I was wondering if you'd like to ask the Hobbit Guard if she has noticed anything different about the path? Your Stone Sense is just as good as mine, so I thought you'd like to check with her this time.”

Víli couldn't stop his amused grin anymore than he could stop the sudden snort of disbelief.

“Forget it, boy. You're going to need to face her yourself. _You_ are the one who made her mad. Best to start early on making it right. Your mother can hold grudges for weeks. Let us hope your Hobbit is different.”

Fíli blushed brightly at the Guard being so blatantly declared his, but didn't deny it.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “If she throws me off the mountain, tell Kíli I died a little more gloriously.”

Víli laughed loudly, shoving his son towards the Hobbit Guard, and watched the slight frame move through the crowds with a grace and purpose he'd only ever seen in one being.

A small being who was overly fond of riddles, scolding Dwarven Royalty, and throwing things.

_Just like a Guard I've come to care for._

-LoSF-

For as long as he had known the Dwarf, Fíli really didn't know anything personal about Nordin.

He was from a clan far from Erebor that would only involve itself with the mighty kingdom if the King used his authority over all Dwarven settlements to call to aide in times of crisis and war.

He had an uncle that was hated by his father, a sister that was loathed by Ori, and a cousin Kíli wished to shoot in the ass.

Nordin himself, however, left no real impression.

He couldn't think of a single incident where the Dwarf acted out towards any of those in Erebor, disrespected the Royal Family, or caused scandals between the Noble Lords and Ladies.

The Dwarf was not like his kin, but had carried the burden of their crimes.

It pained Fíli to realize his One had been right.

Fíli had acted in the manner of those around him without question.

It was the same mistake that cost Erebor the alliance with the Hobbits.

A mistake that could cost him Sting's companionship if he weren't careful.

_'I feel as though I should expect better from you.'_

Her words still echoed in his mind to fill his entire being with both sorrow and joy. Sorrow at failing her expectations, and joy at knowing the lass thought so highly of him without knowing him well.

If Sting felt as though he should do better, then it meant he _could_ do better. Because his One expected him to.

The first step in reaching that goal was making amends with Nordin.

Even if they never became friends, Fíli could at least treat the Dwarf the same way he treated other Ereborian citizens.

Something he planned on starting immediately.

“Master Nordin,” Fíli called once he reached the wagon.

The Dwarf didn't pause in his task of releasing the ponies so that another Dwarf could swap them for fully rested ones, but he sent a confused but polite look to him.

For the first time, Fíli took the time to observe his friendly smile. In doing so, he realized it wasn't as friendly as he originally thought.

That smile was guarded and slightly strained. The look in his eyes was mistrustful, but accepting.

Fíli felt a fresh wave of guilt.

He didn't want any Dwarf to look at him as though expecting ill treatment.

Nordin, however, wore such a look behind a wide grin.

“What can I do for ye, Master Dwarf,” he asked casually, eyes darting to the Hobbits shuffling around in the wagon as if an explanation for not addressing him with a more respectful title. “M'lady Guard has gone to get a heavy cloak for 'er kin. She'll be back soon.”

Fíli bit back the growl of annoyance at the fond way the dark-haired Dwarf spoke of _his_ One. It wouldn't do to get jealous over such a small thing. Especially when Nordin had proven again and again over the weeks to have a strong fondness for all of the Hobbits.

“I see. I'll wait here, if that's alright. I need to discuss the route with her.”

“As you will,” he bowed his head before turning back to his work.

It was rather astonishing to watch the Dwarf laugh and joke with the Hobbits. He was much more friendly and relaxed with them than Dwarrow. It only confirmed Sting's thoughts.

Nordin finished handing over the ponies to a waiting Dwarf, and turned immediately to Fíli with a smile. It was not warm and welcoming like it was when directed at the Hobbits, but it was just as wide.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No, but thank you for asking,” he responded immediately with a calm expression.

Surprise shown in Nordin's eyes with a growing glint of suspicion.

Fíli couldn't blame the Dwarf.

It was the first time he had ever spoken to Nordin with something other than a glare and dismissive tone.

“You're welcome,” he replied with only a touch of uncertainty.

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh. Well. As gold as honey, I reckon. Why do you ask?”

_What an odd phrase for a Dwarf to use_ , Fíli thought with a flicker of amusement. He offered the confused Dwarf a puzzled smile. “The Hobbit Guard believes you to be ill.”

“Ah. She said as much when she hopped to the wagon this morning.” He nodded twice to himself. Nordin's expression cleared of confusion. It settled into one of carefully controlled annoyance behind a guarded smile. “You need not worry. It was only asked out of the same concern she shows everyone. I'm not making any moves on your lass.”

Fíli blushed hotly, stuttering at the giggles coming from the wagon. He glared at the Dwarf, taking a step forward so that they were nearly chest to chest, and snarled.

“I did not come over here out of _jealousy_.”

“Oh?” Nordin's expression twisted suddenly. A single brow ticked up in the same moment his normally wide grin narrowed into a thin, civil smile. The expression was one often worn by Sting. Irritation at seeing it on Nordin's face nearly snapped his temper entirely.

“Are you mocking me,” Fíli demanded with a scowl.

“How would I be doing that?” A commotion started behind them, but neither Dwarrow paid it any mind. They also missed the sudden silence from the wagon at Nordin's back.

“By copying the Hobbit Guard's every expression while accusing me of being jealous of her care towards you.” The commotion grew louder but Fíli still didn't hear. His senses were entirely focused on the Dwarf in front of him, and the way the stone seemed to shiver to awareness beneath Nordin's feet as his emotions swelled. “Do you mimic her to agitate me? Or because of _your_ regard for her?”

“I do not know why you're angry, but do not accuse me of dishonoring M'lady Guard in such a way. It's a slight against her to even suggest it. You should know better.”

_'I feel as though I should expect better from you.'_

Fíli flinched. “Are you trying to provoke me?”

Something hardened in the Dwarf's gaze. Fíli responded to the unspoken challenge in glinting eyes by raising his chin the way Uncle Thorin had always done when Lords overstepped in court. It seemed to exasperate rather than intimate the Blackbeard Dwarf.

“Lad, we both know I'm not the one who goes about provoking other Dwarrow, so pull your head from your jealousy before I feel honor-bound to defend that lass,” he warned, voice rumbling in sync with the stone beneath his feet to dull all other sound.

Fíli's anger immediately cooled at the reminder of the injustice the Dwarf faced in Erebor. Shame burned him as he realized he'd fallen right back into suspicion and intimidation the moment the Dwarf agitated him.

_'I feel as though I should expect better from you.'_

Her words echoed once more through his mind, and Fíli couldn't help but to feel she was right.

“I–”

The panicked cries of the Hobbits doing their best to scramble from the wagon stopped his apology.

As one, Nordin and he turned to look at the Hobbits in surprise.

They didn't appear to be in danger, but each one had a fearful expression as they clamored down and fled towards the ponies.

Fíli had only half a moment to think the Hobbits were trying to escape when something curled with a grip as sure and steady as stone into the back of his coat.

The next moment, he was picked up and slammed into the ground in the same moment and manner as Nordin.

“I said get your asses down, you deaf bastards!”

Sting's bellow as she crouched over them stopped any counterattack he would have tried. With eyes blazing and set upon the space just behind the wagon, Sting lunged across the ground with a dagger swiped from his hip.

It blurred across the distance to bury itself into the eye of a Goblin just as it was pulling itself over the cliff's edge.

Ice filled him.

“Goblins!” Nordin's cry echoed through the stone to alert all the Dwarrow present. The sound of weapons being drawn filled the air along with the frightened cries of Hobbits.

Sting roared something in Hobbitish that he couldn't hope to comprehend, but it was panicked enough to get him moving to her side. It was only as he stood that he realized one of the Hobbit women was stuck in the wagon, her foot caught by a crude looking rope.

Before he could think of where it had come from, Nordin vaulted over the wagon with little care for the hordes of Goblins pulling themselves up over the edge.

It was only then that he saw the ropes had been thrown by the filth.

“Get off the wagon!”

It was too late to warn them.

Nightmarish cackles filled the air as the wagon began to slide over the edge.

Nordin pulled the lass free just as he and Sting grabbed the edge of the wagon and _pulled_.

It gave only a little against the relentless force of gravity and the weight of the Goblins pulling it down.

But it was enough.

Nordin reached the edge of the wagon and let out a roar as he tossed the lass to rapidly approaching Dwarrow.

She was swept up and passed safely back, but Fíli didn't have anymore time to think on her as the back wheels of the wagon went fully over the edge.

Fíli looked over to Sting, her eyes blazing against the threat to her kin and glinting with worry and fear for Nordin as the Dwarf tilted back with the wagon.

_'I feel as though I should expect better from you.'_

She was right.

He could do better.

Set a better example for his people.

Starting now.

Because if the Prince who would one day be King of Erebor wasn't willing to risk his life for every Dwarf under his rule, what right did he have to rule them?

The answer was simple.

There was no choice.

“Forgive me, Sting,” he said softly.

Her eyes snapped to him in confusion just as he lunged forward.

His boots hit the wagon's driving bench.

Nordin looked at him in shock, but there was no time for words.

He grabbed the Dwarf by the forearm, swiveled, and let out a yell in his effort to toss the larger Dwarf over his shoulder.

Nordin collided with Sting just as she let out a cry of fear.

His heart clenched at the noise, but his soul was steady as the wagon tipped over the edge completely.

He had only a moment to register the many Goblins hanging from ropes off the cliff before something sharp struck his head.

Screams of his kinsmen echoed in his ears as he fell through the air into the belly of the mountain.

The blue sky overhead blurred before his eyes.

He blinked as icy wind whipped passed him.

With more effort than he'd ever needed before, Fíli opened his eyes to try and see the sky once more before death surely took him to the Halls of Mahal.

But he didn't see a single trace of blue in his tunneling gaze.

He saw a flash of only one thing.

Silver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for Next Chapter:
> 
> Bilbo's heart stuttered as the wagon slipped from view to take the Young Dwarf with it.
> 
> Something burned in her chest.
> 
> Nordin rolled off her, but she didn't hear what the Dwarf was saying.
> 
> Her world tunneled.
> 
> Sounds of Goblins and Hobbits and battle fell away.
> 
> The stone and earth wept under the crushing weight of her sudden sorrow.
> 
> Only one thing broke through the haze of her disoriented senses.
> 
> A cry.
> 
> A Dwarf's cry.
> 
> Usually familiar and comforting, but this time filled with a pain far too great for any soul to carry and continue living.
> 
> His heart, shattered and bleeding, entered his throat to bring power to his voice as he bellowed into the distance.
> 
> “Fíli!”
> 
> The name shot through her system to wake memories from long ago.
> 
> Memories of sitting on Bungo's knee as he told her of his old friend from the Blue Mountains.
> 
> Of a haughty but compassionate archer with a beautiful and fierce wife.
> 
> Of the lad he doted over and watched to give the noble couple time to rest.
> 
> Of his time and love...
> 
> ...for Fíli...
> 
> ...the son of his most treasured friend...
> 
> ...the Archer of the Blue Mountains.
> 
> “Fíli!”
> 
> Her father's friend cried in agony for his son.
> 
> For her father's beloved godson.
> 
> For her...


	12. TWELVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is well!

-LoSF-

Bilbo's heart stuttered as the wagon slipped from view to take the Young Dwarf with it.

Something burned in her chest.

Nordin rolled off her, but she didn't hear what the Dwarf was saying.

Her world tunneled.

Sounds of Goblins and Hobbits and battle fell away.

The stone and earth wept under the crushing weight of her sudden sorrow.

Only one thing broke through the haze of her disoriented mind.

A cry.

A Dwarf's cry.

Usually familiar and comforting, but this time filled with a pain far too great for any soul to carry and continue living.

His heart, shattered and bleeding, entered his throat to bring power to his voice as he bellowed into the distance.

“Fíli!”

The name shot through her system to wake memories from long ago.

Memories of sitting on Bungo's knee as he told her of his old friend from the Blue Mountains.

Of a haughty but compassionate archer with a beautiful and fierce wife.

Of the lad he doted over and watched to give the noble couple time to rest.

Of his time and love...

...for Fíli...

...the son of his most treasured friend...

...the Archer of the Blue Mountains.

“Fíli!”

Her father's friend cried in agony for his son.

For her father's beloved godson.

For her...

The stone trembled beneath her with strength.

The earth thrummed through her with power.

_Fíli._

She was a blur across the ground, breaking the heads and necks of every Goblin who dared to get in her way, tossing Men and Dwarrow alike to the safety of their kin as she pushed herself faster in her singular focus on getting to the cliff's edge.

“ _My pack!_ ” Her voice rose over the sounds of battle to reach her kin. They paused, eyes looking wildly for the familiar pack of their Thain-Heir, and echoed her order to those further away. She ducked a mace, twisting around to avoid crude blades, and released a high-pitched whistle that sent Goblins tumbling away with pained cries. The whinny of a pony answered her. Bilbo grimaced in determination, eyes fixed on the cliff just ahead. “ _Throw it into the abyss! I go for the Dwarf!_ ”

“ _Cousin, don't!_ ” Flambard's voice echoed to her along with the cries of her kin in worry and fear.

“ _I will find you! Grab a Dwarf for protection from the Men and flee on the ponies! Hurry from here! No path is safe!_ ”

Bilbo didn't pause as the edge of the cliff met her.

She soared through the air with the strength of the Stone Father and Green Lady adding to her own to push her further.

Several voices cried out her born name. Others called the names she'd earned.

But _Sting_ was not among those called, so she didn't turn to those voices.

She spiraled downward towards the rapidly approaching darkness.

Sound and color disappeared.

Her world narrowed down to the form in front of her.

_Fíli._

She dove like an arrow to catch her Dwarf around the middle.

Her hair, free from the braid by the speed of the wind, wrapped around his frame like silver rope as she twisted to straighten his body along her front.

Bleary blue eyes blinked at her before closing.

She held him tightly, tucking his head into her neck, and stared straight into the darkness while digging deep within her soul to rip free the chains binding her Gift away.

The door to that blessed yet cursed power swung open.

Mahal's presence filled her as a bright light like silver flame flickered to life beneath her skin to chase away the reaching darkness.

“ **I call to the Stone Father in aide of his son!** ” The rough, rumbling tones of the sacred Dwarven tongue ripped free from her throat to echo in the deep. “ **Come forth, Mahal!** ”

Drums of war sounded through the belly of the mountain.

Stone shifted around them.

Goblins shrieked in the distance as tunnels suddenly collapsed like closing jaws to devour their corrupt souls.

A rush of air burst forth from collapsing stone below.

The force, as mighty as a draft caused by a swing of the Stone Father's hammer, rose up to wrap around the spiraling silver form hurtling towards the ground.

Warmth like a forge wrapped around Bilbo.

Their fall slowed.

The rush of water reached pointed ears.

Bilbo shifted quickly to bring the Dwarf's head up.

Steady fingers clamped firmly over Fíli's nose.

Her mouth found his to force a deep breath into his lungs as he inhaled.

She remained in the position, sealing his lips with her own, and clung tightly to his limp form.

The icy water broke beneath her head.

Darkness gathered.

Then, with the drumming of a hammer echoing from dark depths and icy tendrils sinking like chains into her flesh to drag her ever deeper, Bilbo let go of her control on the Gift her beloved Lady granted her.

Power flooded every nerve.

Silver light chased away the darkness.

And the stone _sang_ as Bilbo slept.

For something else had awakened in her beautiful form.

The underground lake bubbled with steam as the silver light grew stronger, and the heat of sacred forges burned away the evil tainting the stone.

From the depths rose the same two bodies that had fallen into the darkness.

One was the unconscious form of a Dwarf held gently above the evaporating lake.

The other, with the body of a Hobbit as a willing host, was something else entirely.

_Sacred_ and _ancient_ the stone sang.

For where a Hobbit fell into the depths, something else emerged.

And the Misty Mountains rejoiced even as she wept.

For Mahal had risen to save his son.

And to aide the daughter he so dearly loved.

-LoSF-

Frerin marched through the rushing Dwarrow, barking out orders to his company, while his mind raced.

_What happened?_

He could barely think over the crushing sorrow, but he pushed on.

He had to find Bofur. He was the only one who would know if...

_Fíli_.

Frerin kept from stumbling from sheer force of will.

A commotion ahead drew his attention. The Thain-Heir, with arms wrapped around Víli and heels planted firmly into the ground, pulled with all her strength at the Dwarf.

He didn't step back, but neither did he try to move forward.

“You can't go down that way! Didn't you see the Goblins? They _retreated_ down that very path! And you plan on going after them?!”

Horror sliced through Frerin's heart.

It was bad enough to have lost Fíli. Losing Víli as well would kill Dís.

And losing them all would no doubt rip Kíli from the world before he even finished the last stages of courtship with young Ori.

“What's going on here?”

Víli looked at him with eyes half broken and half mad.

Frerin shivered.

_You can still feel the girl_ , he reminded himself, checking the overstretched length of a barely formed bond, the remnants of the Blessed Bond he had with Belladonna, between himself and the Hobbit Guard. He wondered if he'd look that way if the last connection he had to Belladonna broke. Look as though his child had been ripped away right before his eyes. _She still lives. Since she survived such a fall, Fíli may have as well._

“I'm going after my son.”

“You cannot,” Frerin said even though it pained him to do so. “We must escort the Hobbits out of the mountain.”

“I am not asking!”

“He would not want you to risk your life trying to retrieve him,” Frerin argued.

“I am his _father_ ,” Víli snarled, looking enraged in a way he had never seen him before. “That is my _child_ , brother. You will not keep me from him.”

“You aren't being kept from anyone,” Flambard said, popping up at the Dwarf's side to gently untangle the silently crying Thain-Heir. He shuffled her back with a reassuring smile, tucking her trembling form into the safety of Emli's strong arms to be carried off. “You are waiting. My cousin has gone to save your son. She's ordered us to continue on.”

Víli whipped around with a snarl, teeth barred as if ready to strike at the Hobbit, and roared his pain.

“You would abandon her in such cursed lands?! Have me abandon my son?!”

Flambard's look was cold as frost, hard as steel, and flat as a still lake.

Instinctively, Frerin leaned away.

Because something was terrifying about that gaze.

It was the gaze of a man willing to risk anything, because he'd already lost his everything.

Those were the eyes of a man who had grown tired of the world, but gripped to life in order to finish one last task.

The eyes his own grandfather had when he broke free of the curse placed upon him.

Frerin's gut twisted with a sense of dread.

“I will follow her into any end she chooses to charge towards, Master Dwarf. The fact that I am choosing to move forward should tell you that my kin hasn't fallen to her death. The land itself would weep at the loss of one of our Lady's children, and we Hobbits would hear her cries. Since she still breathes beneath this Goblin infested rock, so does your son.”

“That–”

“Is true,” Bofur gasped, running towards them with eyes wide and pained. His brow, furrowed in concentration, pinched further together as he pitched forward to catch his breath. “I can feel 'im. His bond is strong, but muddled. I think unconscious, but not in danger.”

Víli swayed with relief, bracing himself on Frerin's shoulder. Flambard nodded.

“As I said, your boy lives. My cousin will bring him back to you. She's ordered us to take the ponies, abandon the wagons, and flee as quickly as possible. At least one Dwarf should stay with each Hobbit. The Men of the Lake will no doubt make a move while she's away.”

“When did she give such orders?” Frerin hadn't heard anything. Not over Víli's broken roars and the shattering of his own heart.

“Before diving from the cliffs,” he explained with a slight shiver at remembering his kin disappearing over the rocky edge. “She ordered for her pack to be thrown after her, and then signaled her pony to her aide. Prince will no doubt know the exact path she will take to leave these cursed peaks. He will find her, and they will catch up with us quickly.”

Flambard went to turn, but Víli reached out a shaky hand to grasp the lad's shoulder. The Hobbit looked up at the Dwarf with confusion evident on his face.

“Why? Why did she go after him? She barely knows him.”

The Hobbit's expression twisted into something that _ached_.

He sighed, grasping Víli's wrist gently to pry it off, and stepped back.

“You're wrong, Master Dwarf. The moment you called your son's name, she knew him. She's always known a Dwarf named Fíli, the son of a Master Archer. She just had yet to meet him officially.”

Víli's knees gave out so suddenly that Frerin and Bofur barely had time to dive and catch the Dwarf. He called his brother's name, but Víli only had eyes for Flambard. He looked oddly pained, but painstakingly hopeful.

“My old companion,” he muttered hoarsely. “I saw him in her so much. I thought I was projecting my hopes, but–” A wounded noise stopped Víli from continuing, but Flambard understood.

“Master Baggins of the Blue Mountains died nearly twenty years ago, but his daughter still lives. She has gone into the belly of the mountain to bring back her father's godson,” Flambard paused, smiling sympathetically at the shaken Dwarf. “To save young Fíli, the son of the Dwarf her father wished for her to meet, and bring him home. Just as her father did before her.”

Frerin could only watch in distress as Víli shattered.

The Dwarf pressed his forehead into the stone as silent sobs shook him. His broken voice, muffled by the rock beneath them, thanked the Green Lady and Stone Father for answering his prayers.

“Víli?” Frerin looked wildly between the retreating Hobbit's back and his trembling brother. When Víli looked to him, hope had returned to his eyes.

“Come, Frerin. Help me stand. We must hurry before my hope fails me. Bungo's child will bring Fíli back to me,” he said, voice fierce with certainty. “I will ride with Thain-Heir. In exchange for keeping my son alive, I will keep her kin from harm.”

Frerin didn't dare protest.

He'd not be the one to shatter the fragile hope spurring Víli forward.

Nor would he be the one to point out that the girl was not his friend's child.

Still, learning Víli's old friend was the one who raised Bilbo brought forth new questions.

How did Belladonna, a Hobbit living at the Erebor settlement, meet Bungo, a Hobbit living at the Ered Luin settlement?

Why was Víli's traveling companion, the one he fondly named his Hobbit-brother, tasked with raising the daughter of his Blessed Bond?

And, most importantly, did the girl know her father wasn't a Hobbit?

That he was a Dwarf?

One of Erebor?

And that the blood of the Royal House of Durin flowed through her veins?

Frerin didn't know the answers, but he would be finding out.

He only hoped she stayed alive long enough to reveal the answers herself.

And that she returned quickly to his protection with her faithful One in hand.

_Be safe, Fíli. May the Stone Father, our Lord Mahal, be your shield and sword this day._

-LoSF-

The first thing Fíli became aware of was the pain throbbing in time with the beat of his heart at the back of his head.

Then came the painful sensation of pins and needles throughout his entire body.

The cold from damp clothes clinging to his beaten and bruised frame was the next sensation to register.

Finally, with a thud of fear in his chest, the warmth of something pressed into his side and thrown across his chest hit his senses.

Slowly, trying not to alert whoever may have captured him after surviving a fall he shouldn't have been able to walk away from, Fíli cracked an eye open just enough to peer to his right.

Both blue eyes snapped open in surprise at the beautiful sight to greet him.

There, burrowed safely against his side, was Sting.

He blushed at seeing her long hair unbound and tangled with his own. It burned all the hotter when his slight shifting revealed them both to be clothed in less than they wore while on the path.

Cool skin burned like a brand where her arm lay across his chest. His own arm, wedged tightly between their bodies, went rigid at feeling the firm expanse of her stomach, bare and warm like his burning chest, against his knuckles.

A breeze registered a few minutes later to pull his eyes from the relaxed, peaceful expression on Sting's face.

He blinked in surprise at seeing his clothes, those that he wore above the waist, and the tunic Sting wore, the one he'd given her, laid out along the rocks in front of a large crack in the stone. Closer to them, just within his reach, laid a familiar pack he'd spotted many times on the back of a Hobbit wagon. Atop it were most of his weapons and the leather belt Sting wore.

Realization at what must have happened set in the next second.

He bolted up, worry and fear driving the powerful need to make sure his One was unharmed, and curled in on himself with a groan.

Pressure flared hot and biting in his ribs and head.

He coughed raggedly, gasping at the terrible pain, and trembled in his effort to stop.

Small hands, calloused yet still soft, rubbed soothingly at his back.

He managed to glance at Sting as she slowly eased him back, uncurling him with gentle touches and soothing murmurs.

She looked concerned, but not overly so.

It was enough to tell him his injuries were not dire.

“You fell,” he croaked after a managing to swallow enough air.

“I dove after you, actually.” Her face twitched, but Fíli was unable to figure out what emotion lay beyond such a carefully crafted mask. “And I must tell you, my dear Dwarf, I have every intention of knocking some sense into that stone-hard skull of yours once you've recovered from the concussion you no doubt have.”

Fíli knew he shouldn't be pleased by her words, but he was. Hearing her refer to him as _her_ anything made him far happier than he thought it should.

“I apologize for worrying you.” He meant the words sincerely, but Sting's expression tightened as she carefully began examining his ribs. Though it took the full weight of his will thrown behind Dwalin and Nori's teachings in the practice of resisting torture, Fíli managed to not react to the feel of her fingertips gently skimming across his ribs in search of any damage. “I don't think anything is broken, so you needn't worry yourself with checking,” he managed with a controlled breath.

Sting paused, hands splayed across the expanse of his ribs so that her thumbs curved with the sharp edge of them, and tilted her head in confusion. Silver curls followed the movement to fall over a pale shoulder and pool atop his abdomen.

He tried not to blush like a pebble sneaking a kiss from his first crush, but it seemed he was unsuccessful by the way Sting jolted away from him.

He'd have apologized immediately if not for the blooming red that crept like forge fire up her slender neck to heat pale cheeks. Though her fierce blush, something he had realized after seeing it for the first time was one of his most treasured views, caught his attention, it was the expression behind it that stopped him.

Sting looked oddly young with such a vulnerable and uncertain look on her face. It wasn't the face of a healer looking after a ward with a clinical eye, but the look of a young woman who was somewhat out of her comfort zone and not knowing what to do with the feelings swirling inside her.

Hope sparked in Fíli's chest.

Perhaps he wasn't seen as a child as much as he thought.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, voice shy and bewildered. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. With the way you were coughing, I thought I missed something in my initial check.”

“Initial check?” Though he wanted to assure her he would never be uncomfortable with anywhere she placed her hands on his person, he saw the wisdom in sticking to the safer option. Sting, it would seem, was entirely inexperienced with dealing with attraction. It surprised him considering her age as a Hobbit, but not so much if his suspicions were correct and she actually was younger than her kin claimed.

“Yes,” she nodded, blush receding at his forced casualness. “We landed in the lake when we fell. You were unconscious from a blow to the back of the head, but I managed to get us out and find a place.” She pointed at the wall, shackles shaking at the quick movement, and motioned towards the crack. “That slab of rock was loose, so I shifted it enough to drag us in here and then closed it. I left it open enough to allow air flow. Checking you over for wounds was my next priority.”

“And what did you find?”

“A concussion with a lot of bruising. The impact with the water wasn't gentle. I did my best to protect your head and get you in a position to limit the damage, but water against a limp body tends to leave a nasty sting in the muscles.”

Fíli nodded in agreement. “That's why I'm undressed.”

“Sorry,” she said again, shifting uneasily while playing with a strand of her long hair. Fíli did his best not to stare at the nervous action. “I was worried for your ribs, and thought it best to let some of our clothes dry with the breeze. To avoid sickness from the cold, I retrieved this blanket from my pack and wrapped us both up to share warmth. I do apologize for any offense. It is what we Hobbits do when someone falls into icy waters, or gets stuck out in dire conditions.”

“I'm not offended. If a fire isn't an option, we Dwarrow do the same,” he assured quickly. “Thank you for caring for me.”

“Of course.” Fíli couldn't help but breathe easier at the brilliant smile she aimed at him.

“How did you get your pack? Wasn't it being carried by a Dwarf?” Fíli was certain Nori had it before the attack. He only remembered because the Dwarf had gone and plucked it up before anyone could begin distributing the bags to make room for all the Hobbits. Fíli had found it odd at the time, but hadn't questioned it. If the bag was Sting's, however, Fíli couldn't help but think Nori had acted as he did because he knew who the pack belonged to.

“Yes. I called to my kin and had them throw it after me. I thought I may need it, but,” her voice turned slightly amused, lips twitching up in a mischievous grin that set his heart racing, “I hadn't known the Dwarf I went to save carried enough to outfit a small company.”

Fíli grinned in response, taking pride in his ability to conceal so many knives on his person.

“I take it you have weapons in your pack?”

“Yes,” she nodded, eyes darting to it and then her shackles with pursed lips. “I wasn't planning on using them against you. I thought I may need a weapon I was used to working with if you remained unconscious. I can fight the Goblins just fine, but it would be best to try and get out with as little delay as possible. I do not wish to worry our kin any longer than necessary.”

Fíli sobered.

Though the fall and landing were all a blur, he clearly remembered his father screaming for him when he fell.

“Right,” he sighed, heart aching at the knowledge he was responsible for his father's pain. “Right. So, what's the plan?”

“First, we need to get you dressed.”

She stood suddenly, the blanket sliding from her form like water to pool on his lap. He tried not to stare in awe and surprise as the tips of her still damp hair curled around the heavy swell of her hips, swaying like ocean waves as she walked across their makeshift den. He hadn't realized her hair was so long. His fingers twitched with the desire to see it bound in courting braids.

“I used the last of the bruise ointment from my pack on your ribs, and the last of my bandages on your head. It wasn't much, but there were a few drops left of an oil that relieves pain when put around a wound. I used that, too. It will last a few more hours. We need to be out of here before then. Prince will no doubt be waiting at the end of the lowest mountain trail. If we can reach him before the pain hits, we can begin the ride back to our kin.”

“And if it hits before then,” he asked, obediently shifting to allow her to help him into his clothes so that he wouldn't hit the wound at the back of his skull.

“We will still be going to Prince, but it will be a lot harder of a journey,” she said gently, fixing the collar of his tunic while he tucked in the mostly dry fabric. “I will fight to protect you if your wounds pull you under, but I'd rather us both walk out of here of our own power to save on time and energy.”

Fíli nodded, gently reaching out to begin strapping his weapons back into place, and frowned when she held up the tunic he'd given her.

“Ah. I was wondering how you got that off while still shackled,” he murmured, resolutely looking to the ripped fabric over her shoulder rather than the hot flush pinking her skin.

“It was a shame to have to do such damage to good cloth, but it was necessary,” she said tightly, shifting just the slightest in nervousness. “My apologies.”

Fíli had to bite down a grin at her embarrassment.

He didn't want her to think he was mocking her. Not when he was just overjoyed at being able to see so many new sides of his One.

He wasn't sure what had happened, but something in her heart must have softened towards him to allow such expressions and actions to be shown so freely.

“It's alright,” he said truthfully, but frowned in thought a moment later. “But we will need to do something about those shackles. Come here.”

Surprisingly, she obeyed immediately without question.

He motioned for her hands, taking them gently with his own, and guided her to sit beside him. He didn't have anything small enough to pick the locks, but he certainly had plenty of blades sharp enough to break the chains.

Thankfully, Sting trusted him enough to try when he explained as much.

After adjusting her hands, Fíli drove a blade between the links at the weakest point he could find. It gave instantly, shattering so that each shackle only had about twin inches of chain hanging from it.

“Put this on,” he instructed, handing Sting his coat while adjusting his position. “We'll get the ones at your feet next.”

“Won't your leader be angry with you?”

Fíli's lips twitched at her concern, but he shook his head carefully in answer.

“He'll understand.” If he didn't, Fíli was fully prepared to threaten his uncle with his mother's wrath. She no doubt would take a club to her brother's skull if he insisted the one who saved him, his _One_ , be chained when they returned to camp. He'd be sure to tell her as soon as he saw her. Frerin wouldn't make it to the Royal tent before being rendered unconscious.

“Let me just–”

Fíli froze at her sharp intake of breath and quick retreat. He blinked in confusion, trying to understand what just happened, and glanced to her face for an answer.

It proved pointless.

His question died on his lips at seeing the vivid rubies lighting Sting's cheeks. With her eyes blown wide and lips parted from a shocked gasp, it was easy to tell he had crossed some sort of boundary line.

Still, the only thing he'd done was touch her foot.

“Is your foot injured? I didn't mean to harm you.” That was the only reason he could think of for her to have such a stunned expression.

“Oh – erm – no. I – well–” Sting stuttered around her words, snapping her mouth shut with a click when he looked to her in growing concern, and carefully uncurled from the ball she'd formed to slowly put her feet back on the ground. “I know you are too young to be aware of this, having never really been around Hobbits at a mature enough age to realize it, but touching a Hobbit's feet conveys certain things.”

“Things,” he echoed, mind snapping back to when he put her in shackles. He'd been so concerned about harming her by accident back then, but he never considered his actions meant something more. “What kind of things?”

“Well, it all depends on how you handle them, really,” she said calmly despite the blush still burning hot on her face. “But Hobbits do not allow anyone to touch their feet outside of a Healer, and that's only when absolutely necessary, after tweenhood. If they do, it's only with a...very personal relation. And then those touches act as a way of explaining intent without words to one another.”

Fíli blinked in surprise. “You mean a lover?”

The return of Sting's blush answered him before her stuttered confirmation did.

His stomach suddenly twisted.

“What did I say the first time?”

She looked away, face blistering usually pale cheeks even as she tried to take calming breaths in an effort to will it away.

“Please?” His voice was hoarse, but he couldn't shake off the emotion swirling through him. The thought of offending his One, disrespecting her despite not meaning to, sent pain lancing through his soul. “Please, Sting? I did not mean any insult to you. What did I say?”

She bit her lip in thought, but relented with a sigh.

“I do not hold you accountable for your actions,” she said earnestly. “I want you to understand that all of us Hobbits know there was no way for you to know our ways. Had a Dwarf of an older generation done what you did, however, he'd have been attacked by my kin.”

Fíli swallowed roughly, nodding for her to continue, and braced for whatever she was going to say.

“You declared your desire to bed me with the intent to produce an heir,” she mumbled, watching him carefully as his heart stuttered in both shock and embarrassment. “It is an accepted action among spouses, but between any others is it seen as an offense. It is a way to convey you would take me as a lover and claim any child between us, but would not take me as a wife.”

“Ah.” He slumped, mind whirling at the degree to which he managed to insult his One. “And just now?”

“You asked for a casual romp with no further attachments,” she admitted carefully, eyes trained on him with worry. “If a child were to be created from such a joining after that agreement, you'd have no right to the babe due to expressing no desire to have one with me.”

_A romp_ , his mind screeched as his soul roared at the mere thought of her ever being labeled something so shallow to him. His shoulders slumped under the shame he felt at even unknowingly implying he'd ever forsake his own child and the mother of the child.

Taking a fortifying breath, he reached to grab a braid, prepared to cut one and offer it as a sign of his shame and regret, but a firm grip grasped his wrist before he'd managed to reach one.

“Do not think to offer me a braid.” Sting's voice was once again firm with resolve and steel. There was no traces of the stuttering, blushing young woman she'd been just moments before. “I am a Hobbit. Braids do not carry the same meaning to me. Just as touching feet does not for you. If you wish to make it up to me, despite my promising it is unnecessary, then think of another way to do it. You've committed a Hobbit offense, so a Hobbit form of atonement will suffice.”

Fíli stared, riveted by the conviction his One could convey in such quietly spoken words, and nodded with a gusty sigh.

“I promise to atone properly.”

She smiled, letting go of his wrist, and sat back to allow him quick access to the chains at her ankles.

He was careful not to touch her feet at all, and huffed a relieved breath when it broke without resistance.

Sting was up and belting his coat around her waist a moment later. She inspected her bag as he folded the blanket discarded at his feet.

Fíli stared in fascination at the masterpiece he held.

He'd only came upon such beautiful works when produced by Dori's skilled hand.

Fíli didn't doubt his mother's Blessed Bond would be swooning over such skill.

Truly, it was nearly too beautiful to use. The blue and silver fabrics were the exact match to the Durin House colors. Silken petals spoke of a Hobbit background, but carefully embroidered pearls and crystals along a squared border were most certainly Dwarven in nature. Hidden runes within intricate stitching, some Dwarven and some Hobbitish, also combined the two worlds beautifully.

The runes were nearly too small to be noticed by even the most trained of eyes, but Fíli's craft demanded an attention to detail most Dwarrow didn't have for anything that was outside their own creations.

He'd only just managed to make out the runes for protection, home, and wisdom when the blanket was suddenly removed from his hands.

Sting had it folded and secured within her pack by the time he glanced to her.

“Pack is ready. We must hurry. Are you ready?”

Fíli's suspicions flared at such forced nonchalance, but he said nothing. If his One wasn't ready to reveal her secrets, he'd not force them from her.

He'd certainly insulted her enough. The last thing he wished to do was make her uncomfortable.

“Aye.” He stepped forward carefully to get a feel for his body. Though the stinging and stiffness would slow him down, it wasn't enough to completely hinder him. “Let's go.”

Sting moved to the makeshift door without a word. He'd moved to help her with the slab of stone, but she shoved it out of the way as if it were a branch.

He only remembered to close his gaping mouth after she raised an expectant brow at him.

“Come along. We will have to hurry to get out of these mountains by nightfall.”

Fíli obeyed.

He followed after her gliding form with careful steps, eyes open and searching for any threat, but nearly stumbled when he carefully reached out with his Stone Sense.

The stone was _singing_ beneath his feet in the wake of his One's steps.

The sickness that previously plagued the mountain was slowly lifting.

In its place was something ancient, powerful, and _raw_.

It felt oddly like the stone from the night the Hobbit lass was attacked.

As if Mahal had thrown his strength behind the stone to make the call more powerful.

It was suspicious.

But Fíli knew he wasn't mistaken in sensing the presence of the Stone Father.

And there was only one thing in common between the two incidents.

Sting.

Fíli watched his One's back, eyeing her with a sudden surge of trepidation, and forced himself to carry on without showing any signs of the fear racing through his blood.

He knew it was too much to hope her being present for both was simply a coincident.

Dread turned his stomach sour.

If Sting was the one responsible for the stone healing, then she was the one they were truly sent to find.

And if she was, Fíli wasn't certain he'd be able to protect her from what was to come.

But that didn't mean he wasn't prepared to risk it all in trying.

No one was going to take his One away.

Not his people.

Not his King.

And certainly not the mad bastards responsible for what truly happened fifty years ago.

Not if he could help it.

-LoSF-

Night came upon the exhausted company far more quickly than Víli would have liked.

They had traveled hard and fast to stay out of reach of the Goblins trying to flee from the mountain, resting only minutes before moving on once again.

He wasn't sure what had happened within the belly of the Misty Mountains to cause such vile creatures to flee into the burning light of day in an attempt to escape, but he was glad for whatever it was.

It increased the chances of Fíli and the Guard reuniting with them quickly, though their hastened pace worried him on when that would be.

Bofur continuously assured him he could feel Fíli alive and well.

Thain-Heir, who had shown increasing signs of distress to the point two Hobbit women attached themselves to her side and refused to move in order to soothe her, even made an effort to reach out when he was near to promise her cousin would not stop until she returned with the Dwarf.

It both reassured and worried him each time she reached out to him.

Because it had become obvious while on the pony with her that the Thain-Heir hadn't been emotional for no reason over the weeks they'd been traveling together.

Her clothes hid it well, but Víli knew from personal experience the curve of a stomach filled with new life.

Dís had shown late in both pregnancies, so Víli hadn't thought for a single moment the lass had become pregnant on the road.

No, he had no doubt the Hobbit's husband, the one not with the caravan, was the waiting and worried father.

But that only confirmed the suspicions he had all along.

“Do not look so dark, brother. I'm sure our fiery Hobbit Guard will have Fíli back soon. They will no doubt be a day or so behind with the speed we've traveled at, but they will catch up.”

Víli looked to Frerin with a carefully controlled expression.

His brother had been hesitant of speaking about the Guard to him since learning who her father was.

He looked guilty in a way only those close to him would recognize.

Víli felt a pang of remorse for not reassuring his brother that he already knew it was impossible for Bungo to be her true father, but something in his gut told him to hold his tongue.

For though Víli knew from Bungo confiding in him all those years ago of the lad's inability to have children of his own because of the Gift of Vines his Lady granted him, no one else knew of it.

Somehow, in some unknown way, Víli felt it important to not reveal such information to anyone.

At least not until he talked to the lass herself to confirm she was indeed the _adopted_ child of Bungo Baggins.

“I believe you're right. Bofur said the Bond grew stronger hours ago, so we know he's woken up,” he answered, watching his brother carefully. “We just need to wait on Mistress Baggins.”

Frerin flinched.

Víli no longer had any doubts.

“Right.” His brother coughed, looking around as if suddenly nervous. “Right. How does the Thain-Heir feel? She seems to be more shaken than the rest.”

“She's holding strong, but seeing her kin fall struck her heart deeply,” he explained, keeping his thoughts on the woman's pregnancy to himself for now. “I have been wondering something about her. It is in regards to something another said.”

“Another?”

“Aye. Someone who holds more power than even she,” he mumbled quietly.

Frerin instantly frowned, but sat down next to him so that very little space separated their bent heads, His blue eyes were lit with confusion when he spoke.

“What do you mean?”

“The reason we've been sent to collect the Hobbits,” he explained after a quick glance around. Fortunately, no Hobbits were near. They were all gathered in the center of a circle of armed and ready Dwarrow much further away. Be it Goblins or Men, no one was getting near the Guard's kin. Not after she readily chanced her life by diving off a cliff to save a Prince of Erebor. “The final clause the Thain of Hobbits put in place before he will sign a contract allying us.”

“ **To retrieve the Thain-Heir and bring her to the camp where the Hobbits from their village are being held** ,” Frerin whispered just as quietly, switching to their native tongue as an extra precaution.

Víli shook his head. “ **That is true, but not the part that concerns me.** ”

Frerin blinked, brow pulling together in thought, and frowned. “ **You refer to the marriage contract? The one between the Thain-Heir and a Dwarf of noble blood?** ”

Víli nodded. “ **The Thain was specific in saying the Thain-Heir was the one who had to make the final decision on whether she would give her hand or not.** ”

Frerin nodded, still looking confused, and motioned for him to continue.

“ **You have offered yourself as the one to wed her, stating you are wed to your craft and would not expect anything from the Hobbit woman, and the Thain had agreed. Quickly. A little too quickly after knowing it was you who would be the one to wed her.** ”

His brother suddenly looked thoughtful. He nodded in agreement, eyes darting to where the Thain-Heir rested against her kin with an alert guard around them.

“ **Aye. We thought it odd at the time. After meeting her, I think Thorin was right in thinking the contract was only added as a means to stall for time.** ”

Víli shook his head. “ **The Guard has spoken of the woman's _husband_.**”

Frerin reared back as realization set in. He turned towards the fire, eyes darting around cautiously as he thought, and sighed with a troubled frown.

“ **The Thain may have offered her knowing it would be impossible for her to wed. He's already stated he is not long for this world, so it would be his heir who would decide what would happen with the Hobbits in the coming years. It may have just been all a clever way of securing his heir's protection.** ”

“ **I would agree with you, but I do not think he'd make such a contract without serious intent behind it. His advisor, Fortinbras, said as much. It would be a slight against the Thain's deceased daughter to ask for a marriage between a Hobbit and a Royal Dwarf without placing any weight behind it. She was, after all, denied her right to marry.** ”

Frerin, unsurprisingly, flinched at the reminder of what happened with Belladonna. He grit his teeth in anger, but didn't immediately snap at Víli as he expected him to. Instead, it appeared he was weighing the words carefully.

“ **I do not understand what you're getting at, brother. Are you saying the Thain has planned to betray us before the alliance is truly formed?** ”

“ **No, brother. I only have a suspicion. One that I have had for many days.** ”

“ **Of what?** ”

“ **I believe the Thain-Heir is not who we believe.** ”

Frerin stared at Víli's heavy look in confusion for several long moments. Then, with a strangled noise in the back of his throat, he jolted as if struck.

“ **You cannot mean to say what I believe you to be.** ”

“ **She is unmarried, skilled in battle, organizes her kin, and oversees all matters between our company and the Hobbits. If you care to remember, she also came out of the Thain-Heir's tent all those weeks ago. Flambard followed her instead of staying with the Hobbit who came out of the tent after. The Hobbits all looked to her in silent plea when you declared the other Hobbit the Thain-Heir. She is a natural strategist. With their backing, and knowing the Thain-Heir was meant to be protected at all costs, I do not think she would let such an opportunity escape. After all, being a Guard rather than the Thain-Heir meant she could protect her kin and search for an escape herself.** ”

Even as he spoke, Frerin was shaking his head rapidly in denial.

“ **It cannot be true.** ”

“ **I believe it is, brother. The Hobbit Guard is most likely the Thain-Heir.** ”

“ **But that...it would mean...** ”

Víli's smile was grim. “ **It would mean your intended is none other than the beloved Hobbit Guard.** ”

Frerin swayed where he sat, eyes wide in disbelief, and skin quickly turning a sickening color.

Víli understood immediately where the sudden revulsion came from.

Though he would not say so until she herself spoke of it, Víli had no doubts on who the Guard's actual parents were.

Because Bungo would only flee the Blue Mountains, the only home the lad knew, if one person called to him.

The wild and infamous Belladonna Took.

Frerin's Blessed Bond.

And she would only summon him for one reason.

For the sake of her child.

Her Half-Dwarf and Half-Hobbit child.

The Hobbit Guard.

It was no wonder the Thain had agreed so quickly after realizing Frerin would be the one to marry the Thain-Heir if the contract was signed.

In doing so, he trapped Frerin into accepting and having to reveal the identity of the Guard to the rest of Erebor.

Because there was no possible way for Frerin to wed the child of his Blessed Bond.

With the way Dwarven Bonds worked, the Guard was as good as Frerin's godchild. By Dwaven law, it was as good as naming her his chosen niece. They could not legally wed even if the contract had been signed.

The Thain, it seemed, was just as strategic as his heir.

He'd played them all.

_It seems Frerin is well aware who she really is_ , Víli thought with carefully concealed sympathy as he watched his brother become more distressed as the minutes passed.

He didn't bother to tell Frerin he knew who the Guard truly was.

It wouldn't matter.

With the Thain's trick, he'd shackled Frerin into revealing the truth the moment the marriage contract would be presented to his heir.

“ **Place your hope in my son, brother,** ” Víli said with a wide grin in attempt to calm Frerin's obvious panic.

“ **What?** ”

“ **Perhaps he will kill you before the Guard finds out you are to wed. I'm sure he'll be more merciful.** ”

Frerin was far from reassured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for Next Chapter:
> 
> -LoSF-
> 
> Bilbo scowled from atop Prince. Her eyes scanned the path ahead even as she adjusted the limp weight at her front to sit more comfortably against her.
> 
> Fíli had lost consciousness not long after escaping the mountain.
> 
> Luckily, and with many thanks to Mahal, no Goblins slowed their progress.
> 
> They'd managed to get out of the Misty Mountains and to Prince just as night began to chase away the day.
> 
> Fíli had grown sluggish as the hours ticked by. He'd resorted to leaning against her for support about a mile before Prince came into view.
> 
> The lad had tried his best to not slow them down, and Bilbo felt pride towards her father's godson.
> 
> He'd held to his strength long enough for her to redress his wound from the few supplies in the medical bag found in the Hobbit packs attached to Prince.
> 
> The Dwarven Leader had done something right for once by having the supplies from the wagons attached to the ponies not currently pulling the Hobbits along.
> 
> If he hadn't, Prince would not have been stocked with food, water, and other much needed supplies.
> 
> Fíli had, thankfully, been able to climb up with minimal assistance.
> 
> She'd climbed up behind and ordered Prince into a run only for his weight to press upon her after a few minutes.
> 
> He'd lost consciousness, but the earth and stone both assured her he was in no danger.
> 
> So, she rode on.
> 
> But dark had stolen all light and Prince was starting to slow. They'd need to find a place to rest and quickly.
> 
> Beorn's lands were still a few days off, so he wouldn't be able to offer any help for the night.
> 
> The Hobbit settlement was closer, but she wouldn't be taking Fíli there.
> 
> Though she wished to show him the place Bungo helped create, she wasn't certain the lad even remembered the Hobbit who used to watch him and, on rare occasions, his brother.
> 
> Bungo have saved Fíli's life, but he was just a boy at the time.
> 
> There was a chance Fíli didn't remember.
> 
> Still, it would be best to discuss it with him at some point.
> 
> For now, she needed to find shelter.
> 
> Especially since the path showed signs of Orcs.
> 
> And Orcs were the last thing she needed to encounter with a Prince of Durin defenseless at her front.
> 
> Truly, her father was right.
> 
> All Durins were trouble.
> 
> Even the endearing ones.


	13. THIRTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope everyone is well! I'd like to apologize for skipping this weekend. Both my little ones have been unwell. My infant has her first cold and is getting her top two teeth in, while my toddler is suffering from seasonal allergies. It made last week a bit too hectic to update as I usually would.
> 
> As an apology, I will be uploading Chapter 13, 14, and 15 tonight.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

-LoSF-

Bilbo scowled from atop Prince. Her eyes scanned the path ahead even as she adjusted the limp weight pressed heavily against her front to sit more comfortably against her.

Fíli had lost consciousness not long after escaping the mountain.

Luckily, and with many thanks to Mahal, no Goblins slowed their progress.

They'd managed to get out of the Misty Mountains and to Prince just as night began to chase away the day.

Fíli had grown sluggish as the hours ticked by. He'd resorted to leaning against her for support about a mile before Prince came into view.

The lad had tried his best to not slow them down, and Bilbo felt pride towards her father's godson.

He'd held to his strength long enough for her to redress his wounds from the few supplies in the medical bag found in the Hobbit packs attached to Prince.

The Dwarven Leader had done something right for once by having the supplies from the wagons attached to the ponies not currently pulling the Hobbits along.

If he hadn't, Prince would not have been stocked with food, water, and other much needed supplies.

Fíli had, thankfully, been able to climb up with minimal assistance.

She'd climbed up behind and Prince started into a run only for the Dwarf's weight to press upon her after a few minutes.

He'd lost consciousness, but the earth and stone both assured her he was in no danger.

So, she rode on.

But dark had stolen all light and Prince was starting to slow. They'd need to find a place to rest and quickly.

Beorn's lands were still a few days off, so he wouldn't be able to offer any help for the night.

The Hobbit settlement was closer, but she wouldn't be taking Fíli there.

Though she wished to show him the place Bungo helped create, she wasn't certain the lad even remembered the Hobbit who used to watch him and, on rare occasions, his brother.

Bungo have saved Fíli's life, but he was just a boy at the time.

There was a chance Fíli didn't remember.

Still, it would be best to discuss it with him at some point.

For now, she needed to find shelter.

Especially since the path showed signs of Orcs.

And Orcs were the last thing she needed to encounter with a Prince of Durin defenseless at her front.

Truly, her father was right.

All Durins are trouble.

Even the endearing ones.

_Especially the endearing ones_ , Bilbo thought, glancing at the sleeping lad with a troubled sigh.

“Off we trot, Prince,” she whispered softly into the night. “It's time we find a place to rest.”

She relaxed her grip on the reins as her beloved companion bobbed his head.

Prince would have no trouble finding somewhere without any guidance.

Being the son of one of Beorn's towering ponies and a slight Elven horse, he had a special connection to the earth and an intelligence that far surpassed most beasts.

Navigating the woods so close to Beorn's land was not something he'd need her help doing.

With that in mind, Bilbo shifted so that she could pull Fíli further into the protection of her arms.

Holding him as she was, it was easy to see how youthful he looked. Certainly young enough that Bilbo should have suspected he could be the pebble her father cared so deeply about.

The Archer from the Blue Mountains who spoke of an old Hobbit friend would have confirmed it, but she hadn't been looking for either members of her father's chosen family within the company.

It had been naive of her to think they couldn't possibly be involved with the capture of Hobbits because of their relationship with Bungo.

She knew Archer – _Master Víli_ – married the Ereborian Princess. Her father had told her as much.

It wouldn't be odd if the two were to join the company at the order of the King of Erebor.

They were royals, after all. And they answered to the crown just as every other Dwarf did.

She should have realized sooner.

Flambard must have known the boy was Bungo's godson from early on.

It wasn't surprising. He was older than her, and had met the Royal Family of Erebor before his parents fled from the mountain with him safely between them.

If anyone would recognize one of the royals, it would be Flambard.

And he knew her father doted on one of the Younger Princes of Erebor.

Putting together the two was hardly work requiring significant thought.

It annoyed her to realize it, but she was glad Flambard didn't tell her who Fíli or Víli truly were. It allowed her the chance to get to know the two without her father's relationship with them bolstering her expectations.

And, more importantly, to get to know them without the title of Durin smearing every interaction.

Bilbo scowled at the thought, but accepted that Flambard had chosen the wisest of paths by keeping his mouth shut.

It didn't mean she wasn't annoyed with his choice, however.

Sighing quietly, Bilbo pushed those thoughts and feelings aside. She'd be able to talk to Fíli soon enough about his royal status and determine if he remembered Bungo.

Until then, she needed to focus.

Keeping Fíli alive and healthy was priority.

Bilbo shifted, curling further around Fíli in an attempt to keep the chill from the crawling fog away, and whispered softly to Prince in praise while scanning the ground.

She had yet to find any other signs of Orcs running about, but that didn't mean some were not near.

If they had been following the company, Mahal's actions no doubt caused them to retreat until his presence faded from the land.

As long as Flambard was able to convince the Dwarven leader to keep moving, the group should be able to stay two days ahead of the filth.

Bilbo could only hope it would be enough to keep her kin safe.

Prince's soft whinny cut through her worries to signal their arrival at a safe place for the night.

As always, her loyal companion did not disappoint.

Though the shadows against the rocks appeared only that, an eye used to the dips and curves and creases of the land would know it offered much more than a wall to lean against.

The stone curved inward to offer just enough room for the three to lay down and rest without fear of being spotted by anything with ill intent.

“Thank you, Prince.”

He huffed softly, turning his neck to gently nuzzle her curls when she carefully slid from his back, and trotted forward with her guidance to slowly lay within the safety of the shadows.

Bilbo was quick with getting Fíli off and into a more comfortable position on the ground. She used the blanket from her pack to support his head after checking the bandages, and was greatly relieved to see the the wound to the back of his head was healing with the help of a Hobbit's touch.

She sat beside him, tugging at the fabric covering his ribs, and flinched as the memory of the last time she checked his wound flooded her mind.

Truly, she was embarrassed to have not realized it may be considered inappropriate to check his wounds without permission.

She wasn't even going to think of her own improper thoughts after realizing just what she was doing.

Still, she hadn't been the one to truly do anything after summoning Mahal.

Getting to the cave, tending to his wounds, and fetching the pack had all been the work of the Stone Father.

He was also the one to retrieve the blanket that told the story of her mother and sire's love within the runes and petals.

Luckily, Fíli didn't know Hobbitish or the Language of the Flowers. If he had, the Dwarven runes would tell more of a story than he knew when placed in the correct order beside the other hidden messages.

Bilbo was glad he hadn't realized the blanket was something so private to her, but her relief wasn't enough to push away the confusion she felt.

Why had Mahal fetched the blanket instead of her cloak?

The cloak was made of a thicker material, and did not pose the risk of discovery.

Instead of the story of her mother and sire, the cloak told of her connection to her father.

It told of their every adventure, dreams, and love for one another.

It spoke nothing of her sire, or the loss her mother felt for being sent from the one she loved above all others.

She loved both creations, but the blanket was the only thing she'd ever made that told the story of her beginning.

Mahal, just like his wife, knew this.

He'd praised her work when she'd first finished the blanket.

_So, why did you risk my secret? Mother's secret?_

Warmth bloomed beneath her as if the Stone Father was trying to reassure and comfort her.

She sighed, allowing the feeling of forge warmed stone to soothe her aches, and carefully tucked Fíli in with the red, dirtied cloak from her pack.

Bilbo knew better than to assume anything where the Green Lady and Stone Father were concerned.

They had, just like Bungo, always wanted best for her.

She was more than aware they would go against her wishes if they thought it would bring her happiness.

_And_ , Bilbo thought with a glance at the Dwarf sleeping soundly beside her, _I believe Lord Mahal has plans for you._

The ground beneath her suddenly rolled with the heavy thuds of something evil. The earth hissed at the corrupt beings stepping upon pure ground.

Bilbo frowned in the direction the vibrations were coming from.

It wasn't too far off, but luckily was not heading in their direction.

She sighed, wrapped her arms around Prince while whispered reassurances fell from her lips, and hoisted herself up.

“Look after the Dwarf, my friend,” she ordered, using the blunt edge of her broken shackles to write a simple message into the ground for Fíli. “I'll be back soon. No later than an hour. Stay here, Prince. Be safe.”

Prince bowed his head, and watched as she left.

Bilbo moved through the trees as if a spirit of the woods. Neither the night nor the brush was disturbed by her presence.

On quick and silent feet the Dwobbit hurried across the ground to track the evil stalking the night.

With the stone and earth guiding her steps, it did not take Bilbo long to find those she sought.

Bilbo hurriedly scaled the rocks overlooking a recently trampled flower field. She scowled at the destruction, but remained silent and watchful.

Orcs, it would seem, were having an argument.

Most of what they were saying was in Black Speech, but that didn't matter. It didn't stop her form understanding. Not when her Lady was whispering in her ear from the wildflowers growing between the rocks.

_They go to hunt our children._ The Green Lady's voice could only be heard by beings of the earth and within the realm of light. The Orcs standing just below the rocks were completely unaware of the words trembling with fury. _They seek a certain Hobbit. A child?_

Bilbo would have responded to Lady Yavanna's confusion, but her attention was pulled towards a lumbering Orc far taller than the rest.

He was certainly different than any Orc she'd ever seen. His skin was pale rather than tainted with the bloody soil Orcs pulled themselves from when they left the dark tunnels of cursed earth they were born to.

The foul creature's arm was what truly caught her attention.

Instead of a scarred limb with curling claws, the Orc had a curved blade, wicked and sharp, stuck into the flesh of his stubbed arm.

By the scars, it seemed like the metal base had been shoved into the wound before it fully healed.

It was a grotesque resolution to what was no doubt a battle wound.

Bilbo didn't doubt the massive creature ordered for it to be done himself.

_Probably stabbed the one who complied, too,_ she thought with a snarl.

Bilbo laid perfectly still, calling upon her natural Hobbit abilities to keep her hidden, and watched the Orcs. They appeared to be having an argument, but the largest had yet to say anything.

Instead, he prowled around the others with a growing snarl.

A shiver went down her spine just before the creature swung his bladed arm. A crimson arc tainted the night, chasing away the scent of flowers with something foul and rotten, and silence struck the clearing.

A head rolled, that of an Orc with the marks of a General, to stop just below Bilbo's hiding spot.

Her stomach tensed as the lifeless body fell to the ground only to immediately be set upon by some of the smaller Orcs.

They collected their spoils and fled quickly as the pale one roared.

Then, to her great shock, he spoke in Common.

“Where are they?” His voice, sharp and guttural, nearly had Bilbo flinching back.

“Two days time. Ahead two days time.” The answer came from a cowering Orc who curled in on himself in a fearful bow.

Their leader snarled in anger, swiping out once again to gut the unfortunate Orc who happened to be standing near, and started moving away.

“We move on,” he ordered. “The halflings are not to reach their kin at the Mountain King's camp.”

Bilbo did not move as they fled.

Her limbs had frozen from the ice pumping through her veins.

The Orc's words echoed through her mind in an endless taunt.

Rage, shame, fear, and far too many other emotions crashed through her skull until she was trembling under their merciless force.

She bowed her head, fighting back tears at her own sense of failure, and ignored the warmth Mahal tried to soothe back into her shaking frame.

It made her feel childish for pushing away his care and concern, but it was _his_ children that kept causing _her_ kin pain.

The Stone Father and Green Lady may indeed be spouses of unyielding love, but it seemed their children just couldn't get along.

Her Gift thrummed against the pain in her heart, trying desperately to comfort her, but Bilbo grit her teeth and doubled down on her control.

The chains binding the doors to her Gift tightened so barely even a trickle could escape.

Bilbo sighed, gathering herself once more, and slid back to the earth.

She wasn't surprised to see flowers of sympathy and gems conveying affection and apology at the base of her hiding spot.

In between them, much to her annoyance, was the plant she'd been planning on searching for after tracking the Orcs.

Taking only a moment to decide, Bilbo grudgingly accepted the gifts and retrieved the medicinal plant from the ground.

She steadfastly ignored the hum of Mahal's relief and tender affection vibrating against the door keeping his power locked away within her.

Despite wanting answers to what the Orc said, Bilbo didn't try to rush back.

She needed time to get her emotions under control before she faced Fíli, so she busied herself with collecting the food Yavanna happily directed her towards.

All the while, Bilbo was struggling with inner turmoil.

Though a Durin, Fíli was young. He wasn't the one responsible for the hardships of her people. The one who was, his great-grandfather, was dead.

It should have been the end of it, but now the new King of Erebor wanted the Hobbits.

And from what the Orc said, it would seem they already had her kin.

She wondered if they raided her settlement and left the land in ruin like Dwarrow had done fifty years ago to other Hobbit settlements? If they destroyed everything that she had come to see as home, that she had come to love, in the same way they'd done to her mother's settlement?

Bilbo could only hope and pray to Lady Yavanna that her kin all lived.

And that nothing had become of their allies during the raid.

“What's wrong?”

Bilbo visibly startled, jumping even as her mind registered the rough voice from a few feet ahead was Fíli.

“Ah. Sorry.” She stared at the abashed Dwarf leaning against a tree _outside_ the shelter Prince had found. He rubbed nervously at his neck, but never looked away from her wide-eyed stare. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“What are you doing,” she hissed, rushing forward to start carefully guiding him back to the safety of the shadows. “You're in the open. It's dangerous. ”

“From what? Bunnies? I believe I can handle a single hare,” he drawled, sounding far more amused with her angry grumbling and gentle shoving than he had any right to.

“Did you not get my message?”

“I did, aye. It's the only reason I didn't take off after you when I came to a few minutes ago.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, grinning down at her over his shoulder. She did _not_ blush. Mahal's laughter and Yavanna's giggling were over something unrelated. “Though I do question your actions. Just what were you scouting for in such peaceful woods?”

Bilbo glared at him, yanking him to where Prince patiently rested. She felt his eyes on her as she grabbed the cloak he'd discarded when waking, but held back the biting words sitting on her tongue.

_It's not his fault_ , she chided herself while shaking out the cloak.

Bilbo knew herself well enough to know her agitation at his casual dismissal of danger was more from her own worry of what could have happened if he'd traveled further into the woods without her protection.

She didn't doubt his strength, but he was injured. More than that, he was too young to really know the trials of battle. He was foolhardy in a way she'd never had the chance to be, and it made her worry all the more for his safety without any kin to protect him.

Against a hunting party like the one she saw, Fíli wouldn't last the night.

Not unless the Orcs tried to use him against his kin.

Orcs, after all, knew there was next to nothing the other races wouldn't do to protect their children.

Even if it meant the downfall of an entire line.

“Sting.” The name, whispered in a gentle breath that caressed her brow, had Bilbo snapping back from her thoughts.

Fíli stood in front of her, a worried furrow to his brow, as he gently ran a thumb over the back of her knuckles.

It was only then that she realized she'd stopped, frozen to the spot with the cloak held up between shaking fists in front of her, as a breath fell from trembling lips.

“You're freezing,” he murmured, concern mounting.

He continued to gently trail the line of her knuckles with his thumbs while pushing her hands together. The cloak shifted like a live flame between them as he pulled her hands up. He held her gaze, bowing his back so that his eyes were even with her own, and huffed a warm breath against each hand. She twitched at the feel of golden whiskers grazing her skin with each inhale, but did not yank her hands away.

It would have been too much to ask of herself.

Because she could scarcely breathe with blue eyes gazing at her over their joined hands with a warming tenderness that she'd never experienced before.

She wasn't certain what the look was about, but it couldn't be anything good.

Not if she went by the Green Lady's delighted giggles and the Stone Father's protective growls.

It would be wisest to not react at all to his attentive actions.

Too bad her blush couldn't be forced down with will alone.

He grinned a bit lopsided at seeing it blooming across her face.

Bilbo did her best not to acknowledge the way her pulse quickened.

“Where I hid was rather cold,” she said after a long stretch of silence. She chose not to think about how difficult it was to pull her hands away, or how her sudden chill had nothing to do with what she claimed. “I had to stay there on some mist chilled rocks for awhile.”

“Hid? From what?”

He suddenly seemed serious about a possible threat to the woods. She'd have been pleased with his sudden change in attitude, but Bilbo would rather he look anywhere but her as she tried to kneel beside Prince without letting Fíli see her still pinked cheeks.

“Orcs,” she answered simply, folding the cloak in front of her. “An Orc hunting party is out there.”

Bilbo nearly yelped when Fíli suddenly grabbed her shoulder to whip her around. She'd have snapped about the handling of her person, despite how gentle his touch was, but the raw fear silenced her tongue.

“Did they see you? Were you hurt?”

Bilbo tried not to be offended as he looked her over. “I am fine,” she said instead. “No one saw me. The party was rather large, but they do not plan on staying in the woods. They are looking for the company.”

“How do you know this for sure?”

“One spoke Common,” she answered gently. “Most likely because it was a party of Orcs from different regions. They'd originally been arguing, but an orc with pale skin ordered them to continue on.”

“Pale?”

Bilbo just barely managed to catch Fíli as he crashed to the ground. She supported his weight, kneeling in front of him with his head bowed against her shoulder, and tried to act as though the sudden shaking in his muscles was from the cold alone.

“Taller than the other orcs, pale skin, and a missing arm. He had a rather dangerous looking blade attached to the stub. Beheaded one Orc and gutted another with it.”

“And he didn't see you?”

“He did not. None of them did.”

“And you are certain of their destination?”

“I am,” she said softly, gathering her courage with the support of Yavanna and Mahal backing her. “He said they must get to the company before they have a chance to reunite with the other Hobbits who are held at the Mountain King's camp.”

Fíli's reaction was instant.

He became as still as stone.

The very breath in his lungs stopped.

Bilbo sighed as she shifted away from the Dwarf to empty her pockets upon the cloak while Fíli gathered himself.

It took several moments for him to find his tongue. When he did, he was appropriately wary.

“So, you know.”

“Aye.” She pointed to the stack of fruits and nuts on the cloak, telling him to eat without saying a word. She took the bundle of herbs the Green Lady was kind enough to gift her and carefully wrapped them in a soft cloth from a pocket on her pack. It was returned to the coat she wore before she bothered to continue. “I thank you for not trying to convince me it was a lie.”

“I would not lie to you.” he vowed. “Though, I may not answer if I've already sworn silence.”

Bilbo nodded, fetching a few apples from the inner pockets of the coat. Prince happily accepted the ones she sat in front of him. The final three she handed to the nervous Dwarf sitting beside her.

“Mind cutting these? They'll be a bit sour, but will go well with the berries.”

He took them carefully, eyes uncertain but hopeful.

Bilbo herself hoped she wasn't about to ruin a possible friendship with the Dwarf Bungo cared so deeply for.

“Did you swear silence to the King of Dwarrow?”

Fíli winced, but answered her with a nod.

“Was it also to the King that you've sworn to hold your name?”

“Ah. No. That would be the company leader.”

“I see,” she mumbled. “Well, should I keep my knowledge of your name a secret from him or the King, Master Fíli?”

An apple fell to the ground.

Fíli stared in stunned silence at her, cheeks pink beneath his golden beard and jaw working despite no sound coming from it. Prince took advantage of the Dwarf's state to quickly turn his head to snatch up the dropped snack.

Bilbo sighed, but didn't speak into the tense silence.

Several minutes had crawled by as she munched on the nuts and berries. Fíli had offered her one of the remaining two apples, but had stayed quiet with his thoughts.

She'd almost finished the last of her midnight meal before Fíli spoke.

“How do you know my name?” He didn't sound suspicious, but there was a heavy amount of confusion.

“The Archer was calling for you when you fell,” she reminded. “I wasn't certain how you'd take to me calling your name after waking as you did, so I chose to wait.”

“You know it, so you may use it as you wish,” he said it like a declaration. Bilbo barely managed to fight off a smile.

“Very well, Master Fíli.”

“Just Fíli, please.”

“Fíli,” she agreed readily. He seemed quite pleased when she did.

“Will I learn your name?”

“Soon.” She couldn't risk revealing herself as the Thain-Heir. Not until she knew exactly what was going on. “I'll be speaking with the Thain before any names are to be given.”

He nodded, looking only slightly disappointed, but didn't push the matter. “The Pale Orc,” he said instead. “He has a grudge against my family. He will not stop until we are all dead. If you wish to leave for safety, I will not stop you.”

Bilbo stared at his earnest expression with growing annoyance.

_She_ was not the one in danger.

“Well,” she began mildly, fully prepared to be blunt now that an offense had been made. “I heard those of the Durin line were as hardheaded as the rocks they ruled over, but I didn't think it to be so true.”

“What?”

“Are you not Fíli of the Royal Line of Durin? Son of Princess Dís of Erebor and the Master Archer of the Blue Mountains? Víli, right? I was told you had a brother, but no sister. Kíli, correct?”

Bilbo only smiled in the face of his overwhelming shock.

It did little to soothe him.

“How? But – did – were you spying?” He seemed once again genuinely confused rather than angry. It calmed something in her to know for certain he wasn't the type of Dwarf to lash out.

“No. I did not know who you were until your father called your name. I put the rest together after that.”

Fíli stared at her, watching as she quickly gathered the cloak to once again shake it out, and tried several times to start a reply while she wrestled the cloak back into her pack.

“How?”

“I was told about your family.”

“By who?”

“My father,” she said carefully, eyes traveling up to meet the puzzled gaze staring down at her.

“Your father? Who would that be? How would he know me?”

“Most Dwarrow called him Master Baggins, but one family–”

“Bungo,” Fíli choked out, staring down at her with dawning comprehension. “We called him Uncle Bungo.”

Bilbo wasn't sure how many different reactions she had visualized and prepared herself for, but none of them had been the lad swearing hoarsely and burying his head in his hands.

Between the curses, only one thing stood out.

“He's going to kill me. The whole bloody family is going to kill me.”

Bilbo really wasn't sure what she was supposed to say to that.

-LoSF-

Frerin paced around the camp, eyes bouncing around in search of the Dwarf he needed to speak to, and glared at anyone who tried to approach.

It had been a full day since they'd lost Fíli and the Guard, but both bonds were still going strong. Bofur kept a steady flow of updates coming on how the Forged Bond with Fíli felt, but only he had a strong enough connection to the Guard to know she was well.

It wasn't something anyone but Nori knew.

And though it wasn't much to go on, it would have to be enough until they could all meet again.

Then, he would explain everything to the Hobbit Guard.

Frerin didn't doubt for a moment he'd be killed.

“Lookin' fer me?” Nori popped up at his shoulder, silent in a way that no Dwarf should be, and grinned sharply when Frerin jumped away.

“Yes. Come here.”

Frerin stomped further away for a little privacy. They'd stopped putting up tents after the Goblin attack, so they needed to move towards the sluggish river moving not far from camp to be away from listening ears.

Nori raised a braided brow as Frerin paced, but did not comment as the Dwarf gathered his thoughts.

“Víli believes the Thain-Heir is not who we think.”

The Spy Master simply hummed.

Frerin was suddenly hit with the realization that the bastard probably had known for longer than any of them.

“You _knew_ ,” he growled, flexing his hands in order to avoid throwing them up in frustration.

“Aye.” Nori wasn't the slightest bit apologetic. “Was suspicious tha' first night. 'ad the lass pinned as the real Thain-Heir after a few days.”

“And you didn't bother to tell me?”

Nori shrugged in face of Frerin's anger. “Why would I? Lass was where she wanted to be. Didn't feel very much like fightin' 'er 'bout it. 'sides, ye will be tellin' everyone soon enough.”

Frerin scowled. The bastard was right, but he didn't want to think about it. He was well aware that his head was going to be used as target practice the moment everyone knew who the Hobbit Guard truly was.

Without even thinking of her true father, Dís and Thorin both would hunt him down.

Dís for causing her to miss fifty years of spoiling her Hobbit-sister's child. Like with Víli and his Hobbit-brother, the Guard would be seen as a niece because of the close relationship of her mother with his own sister.

Thorin would kill him for not telling the truth of what happened at the gates of Erebor fifty years ago.

The lie and misunderstanding that caused so much grief.

He'd honestly rather throw himself beneath her sire's fists and boots than be present to both their ire at once.

“No need to fret,” Nori said with no little amount of amusement. “Ye won't be killed so easily.”

“Aye, but Dís will certainly give it her best shot.”

Nori snorted. “Right ye are. Between 'er sire 'nd yer sister, ye might be in the Halls of Healin' fer a bit.”

Frerin grumbled, but stopped his pacing. He looked at Nori, eyes conveying just how serious he was, before speaking softly.

“I cannot marry her. By law and by conscious, I cannot. If she is truly the Thain-Heir, which I am inclined to believe, that means the Thain of the Hobbits purposefully set the contract up to fail.”

“Most likely,” he answered just as serious.

“Do you think he made the contract in order to slow down negotiations? Or was it a personal attack against me?”

Nori remained silent. Frerin continued pacing, kicking up sand as he went back and forth, and waited for the Dwarf to share his thoughts.

“I'd wager both,” he answered several minutes later. “The Thain 'as a grudge against ye, tha' is no lie. But he is still a leader to a gentle people. He would not risk fully turnin' our help away. Not knowin' the risks to 'is kin. The contract havin' to be changed not only takes a heavy hit at ye, it also gives the Thain time to speak with 'is heir to try 'nd find another solution.”

“But he must see the danger his people are in. The Hobbits will be slaughtered if not protected.”

“Aye, but why trust us? More than tha', he knows he won't be 'ere much longer. He won't make such a choice without the Thain-Heir's thoughts. The contract is to delay Thorin from takin' the 'obbits he has with 'im to Erebor. As is, the contract cannot be completed without 'er. It can be revised, but only after 'is heir returns. Tha' old bastard is smart. He made it so ye will 'ave to reveal who the lass is to ye whether she accepts a marriage contract or not.”

“How so? If she reuses it before anything is said, I wouldn't be forced into saying anything.”

“Would ye not?” Nori cut a less than impressed look his way. “Ye'd just let Bella's daughter go, no fuss or nothin', jus' like tha'? Knowin' Orcs 'nd all other evil creatures are after 'er kin?”

Frerin sighed in defeat. “Of course not.”

“Course I am. Ye'd 'ave to reveal 'er royal blood to get an army at 'er back. The second Thorin knows she's a daughter o' Durin, he is bound by honor to provide for 'er 'nd 'er kin. He'll only know if ye say, o' course.”

“Aye.” Frerin cursed his luck, tugging at his braids in worry as he stared in the direction the bond pulled him. Belladonna's child was just as worrisome as she'd been.

“Thain knows it,” Nori went on with an impressed grin. “Why he did it the way he did. The Thain-Heir accepts without question, and ye 'ave to reveal who ye are to 'er. If she looks at the contract before ye say anythin', she will no doubt recognize ye name. All o' Arda will know yer connection to 'er if tha' happens. Lass can roar like the purest o' Durin Royals,” he grinned proudly.

“That she can,” Frerin muttered, but Nori continued on without stopping to hear him.

“If the contract is dismissed without 'er havin' a look, ye will 'ave to reveal who she is to get 'er proper protection without crossin' any political lines. If it were dismissed an' ye still didn't say nothin', we'd all find out at the same time who she is when Thain introduces 'er as Bella's lass. 'ave to say, I think tha' would be the biggest offense. Probably why Thain chose to go 'bout it this way.”

Frerin blinked in confusion at his friend, but didn't follow his line of thought. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Nori stressed with a tired sigh, “he's testin' ye. No matter what happens, Thain already made it so Bella's kid will be revealed before we 'ead back to Erebor. He no doubt did it so she will be safe. Imagine if a Daughter of Durin was thrown into Erebor without havin' the immediate protection o' the Royal Family by being placed in a Lesser Hall? Greedy Dwarrow would do their damnedest to take advantage o' 'er.”

Frerin grimaced at the thought, but acknowledged it as the truth with a nod.

“So wha' does he do bout it? Makes it so she will be revealed, introduced to all the royals, 'er sire included, the moment she gets to camp. No one will 'ave a chance to get near 'er. Dwalin will 'ave 'is best on 'er tail before introductions are done. That's if the bastard don't shadow 'er 'imself regardless of Thorin needed 'im,” Nori shrugged. “The 'obbit Thain made fer damn sure 'is grand-daughter will get all the protections and royal perks tha' 'is daughter was wrongfully denied.”

Frerin flinched at the hard edge to Nori's tone. He knew a rebuke when he heard one, but said nothing in response.

“So, no matter what either of ye decide to do, a daughter with the blood o' Ri 'nd Durin, carried by our Bella, will be revealed. 'er protection is guaranteed. Wha' isn't, is how ye will go about it. _That_ is wha' the Thain is after.”

“Yes, I figured so. He wants to punish me.”

“Aye, but there are simpler ways to do tha' without involvin' 'is heir,” Nori pointed out. “It's not just 'bout punishin' ye on Bella's account. Thain is testin' ye.”

“As you've said. But how?”

“Ye turned away Bella before,” Nori answered bluntly. “He's makin' sure ye regret it, and tha' ye will step up to do right by yer Blessed Bond's daughter. If ye try to hide from wha' yer actions caused, tha' being a Royal Daughter of Durin livin' without the protection o' Mahal's Mountains all these years _and_ without 'er sire who would 'ave accepted 'er, then he'll know he can't trust ye. He'll be collectin' fer wha' ye've done either way, but he's smart 'nough to make sure Bella's lass will be protected even without ye help.”

Frerin grumbled under his breath, but didn't argue. “If I say something before she finds out?”

“He's still going to drag yer ass with whatever contracts he finalizes, 'nd no doubt watch ye get yer ass handed to ye, but he might forgive ye a bit if ye show ye will do what's right without any tricks. He wants ye to own up, my Prince. If ye don't, there won't be a chance at forgiveness.”

Frerin shook his head, a grim smile twisting his features as he looked to one of his oldest friends, and spoke his greatest fear on a thin breath.

“I do not think I deserve it, my friend.”

-LoSF-

Fíli held Prince's reins tightly, ears straining in the growing darkness, as he waited atop the steady beast for Sting to return from scouting.

They'd decided to continue traveling, neither of them able to get back to sleep after the discussion of Orcs and other revelations, and had taken secret routes he would have never been to able to find on his own in order to stay out of sight.

Most of the trip had been in silence.

Fíli knew that was his fault.

He'd been embarrassed to learn she was Bungo's daughter, but not for the reasons she must have thought.

It was because he _knew_ Bungo could not have children of his own.

His Hobbit Uncle had spoiled him and his brother all the more for it, but it was usually himself who received Bungo's attentions when his parents were busy with Kíli.

Bungo was the only Hobbit he even had memories of, and most of them had faded with age. A few, however, ones close to his heart, hadn't been taken by a youthful mind's ever turning memory.

One such memory was of Uncle Bungo explaining to him that he would never be able to have his own children, but he was content enough to be his uncle.

Thorin and Frerin had said something similar, though it was a choice of craft over spouse in their situation, so Fíli hadn't thought much of it at that time.

But the moment Sting explained who her father was, Fíli _knew_.

Because where Bungo would have certainly raised Sting, he could not have possibly sired her.

And of the little he knew of Bungo's relations with other Hobbits, most of it centered around a single woman.

Belladonna Took.

The lass Bungo said was the Blessed Bond of a Prince of Erebor.

Frerin's Blessed Bond.

The same Hobbit Bungo was connected to in a way that most wouldn't ever understand.

With that knowledge, all the odd pieces suddenly started coming together.

Sting's height, thinner frame, and Dwarf-like strength.

Her silver hair that he'd only ever seen within a single Dwarf Clan.

Frerin's behavior and Nori's protectiveness.

The Dwarven designs to the blanket she'd embroidered.

It all came together with the knowledge that Bungo was the one she claimed as father.

Because Bungo would only allow one woman's children to call him such.

Belladonna Took.

Sting's mother.

The Hobbit lass who was known to have a Dwarf lover.

One who was related to the Durin Royal Family.

And according to Bofur, there were two different Dwarrow who were most upset over Belladonna's disappearance.

Dwalin and Dori.

But which one was the father?

Both had Durin and Ri blood, so going by traits wouldn't help.

Fíli wished to know, but knew better than to ask.

And though he was relieved to know his One had many years ahead of her, Fíli was painfully aware of his mistake.

Because Frerin's Bond didn't have a child while she was in Erebor, and the Hobbits claimed Sting was fifty.

Which meant he'd been far too forward with his not yet of age One.

Fíli groaned.

It didn't matter who her sire was.

Either one would kill him the second they knew of their close interactions.

He was living on borrowed time.

“Just my luck,” Fíli muttered, sighing as he ran a hand over his face.

“Which luck would that be?” Fíli startled terribly at the soft voice at his knee, but Prince didn't so much as flinch. “Sorry. I've been standing here for several minutes. I thought you were willingly ignoring me, again.”

Fíli flinched at the undertone of hurt, and snapped his head down to look at the carefully guarded expression that had been open before his graceless reaction to learning who her father was.

He wanted to tell her it was because he knew that couldn't be possible, but he didn't know how she'd receive it.

Sting put a lot of effort into keeping her parentage a secret, but it could go either way with the reason for it. Did she know she was royalty and was only trying to keep herself safe in a camp full of Dwarrow? Or did she not know her father was a Dwarf?

Fíli found that to be unlikely.

Many Half-Dwarf and Half-Hobbit children had been born not long after Hobbits first moved to flat lands at the base of Erebor.

It was because of the fast reproduction rate between the two races that other Dwarven settlements quickly accepted their presence and even helped build settlements for the Hobbits not wishing to stay beside Erebor.

The Blue Mountains, before the Hobbits fled, had been home to many such mixed children.

Though young, Fíli clearly remembered those children being different from Hobbits and Dwarrow young ones in many ways.

One being the difference in growth.

Mixed races came of age at a pace slower than Hobbits, but faster than Dwarrow.

It was hard to believe someone as sharp as Sting hadn't figured out she was different even if the rest of her kin kept her parentage a secret.

Truly, Fíli knew there was nothing he could say to ease his curiosity without causing her pain and distress.

And that was the last thing he wished.

“I'm sorry,” he said sincerely. “It's only a lot to take in. I hadn't thought I'd ever meet the daughter of Uncle Bungo.”

Sting smiled in acceptance of his apology. “Aye. I hadn't ever thought I'd meet his godson, but fate happens as she wills it.”

Fíli wasn't really sure how to respond to that, but she was speaking softly in Hobbitish to Prince before he could find the right words.

Then, with only a small wave of her hand in warning, she was heaving herself up to sit in front of him.

Fíli froze, holding breath and body still, as she shuffled around so that her legs hung over the same side and her head fell against his chest.

“I've instructed Prince where to go. We'll need to ride faster than I was planning, so we should take turns resting while we can.”

Fíli frowned at the news, but shifted his arms to better protect her from jostling. Prince was off the moment he settled.

“Why? Did you find something while scouting?”

“Well, I went scouting for the Orc party.”

“ _Sting_ ,” he said in exasperation.

“Hush,” she chided tiredly, eyes already closing as she pulled his coat tighter around her frame. “I found them further along the rockier paths. They are sticking to the shadows of the cliffs for now. They'd sent a scout on a Warg ahead of their hunting party. It was said that our kin are just under a day and a half ahead. If the Orcs don't stop and our kin make camp this coming night, they'll be upon them by early morning.”

Fíli frowned in thought. “We are nearly even with the Orcs, so that puts us a day and a half behind the company. If left undisturbed, the company should reach camp midday in two days time. We could reach it that same evening if we continue to travel quickly and rest little.”

“Aye, but I won't chance them not being able to make it to the Dwarven camp before the Orcs reach them,” Sting said quietly, voice slurring slightly as she began to go under. “Too great of a risk.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Set a trap for the Orcs and kill as many as possible. Then, we ride for our kin.”

Fíli stared in shock down at the slumbering lass tucked into him.

He grimaced as Prince huffed what sounded like a laugh.

Sighing, Fíli stared ahead and focused on their surroundings with a despondent look.

If he got lucky, the Orcs would kill him.

Because there was no way he would survive an encounter with her sire, be it Dwalin or Dori, once they found out he let her go after Orcs.

Fíli knew it wouldn't matter to them that he had no hope of stopping her.

The Younger Prince of Erebor sighed.

“Just my luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview
> 
> -LoSF-
> 
> Crouched in the thicket of a prickly bush, Bilbo eyed the Orcs moving below with a patient gaze.
> 
> With Prince's help, they'd arrived a few hours ago at the narrow valley between two walls of high rocks. Beorn had once told her it was a passage used to enter a welcoming town in an age long ago. Now, if everything went according to plan, it would only welcome death to those who tried to cross.
> 
> Thankfully, with much of the thanks going to the Stone Father and Green Lady, the Orcs had not rushed beyond a march without rest, and the three Wargs used for scouting had remained with the hunting party.
> 
> There were sixty-four Orcs all together. Sixty of them were mere soldiers, two had the marks of generals, one was the Pale Orc's second-in-command, and the forth was the Pale Orc himself.
> 
> Bilbo didn't doubt there had been many more to the party before she first spotted them, but was glad the Pale Orc's temper was explosive enough to dwindle his own numbers by the blow of his own blade.
> 
> Sixty-four would most likely not be able to win a battle against forty Dwarrow and twenty Men of Dale, but the Hobbits being there significantly decreased chances of winning.
> 
> There were a few Hobbits within the group able to utilize their Gifts for fighting, but most did not have a Gift that could be harnessed for battle.
> 
> On top of that, the Dwarrow and Men of Dale would need to split their focus between fighting and keeping the Hobbits alive.
> 
> The Men of the Lake, however, could use the chaos to cause their own trouble.
> 
> And Primula, sweet and fierce Prim, would be targeted for the position she was claiming.
> 
> She and the babe were in danger.
> 
> That was not something Bilbo was willing to chance.
> 
> So, the only option was to make a stand before the Orcs could reach the company.
> 
> It had to be far enough away to not bring the attention of the Dwarrow to them, but close enough so that Bilbo would be able to take Fíli to his kin immediately after the trap was sprung.
> 
> She knew she couldn't take them all on in her current state, but she certainly could kill a fair bit and cause chaos between the survivors.
> 
> Fíli just needed to stay with Prince and wait until she came for them.
> 
> He'd been against it, but Bilbo was not going to let him fight while injured.
> 
> His head wound was healing quickly under her attentions, but that didn't mean it would not hinder his fighting abilities.
> 
> It was best she see through her trap alone.
> 
> Regardless of how a certain Dwarf felt about it.


	14. FOURTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope everyone is well! I'd like to apologize for skipping this weekend. Both my little ones have been unwell. My infant has her first cold and is getting her top two teeth in, while my toddler is suffering from seasonal allergies. It made last week a bit too hectic to update as I usually would.
> 
> As an apology, I will be uploading Chapter 13, 14, and 15 tonight.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

-LoSF-

Crouched in the thicket of a prickly bush, Bilbo eyed the Orcs moving below with a patient gaze.

With Prince's help, they'd arrived a few hours ago at the narrow valley between two walls of high rocks. Beorn had once told her it was a passage used to enter a welcoming town in an age long ago. Now, if everything went according to plan, it would only welcome death to those who tried to cross.

Thankfully, with much of the thanks going to the Stone Father and Green Lady, the Orcs had not rushed beyond a march without rest, and the three Wargs used for scouting had remained with the hunting party.

There were sixty-four Orcs all together. Sixty of them were mere soldiers, two had the marks of generals, one was the Pale Orc's second-in-command, and the forth was the Pale Orc himself.

Bilbo didn't doubt there had been many more to the party before she first spotted them, but was glad the Pale Orc's temper was explosive enough to dwindle his own numbers by the blow of his own blade.

Sixty-four would most likely not be able to win a battle against forty Dwarrow and twenty Men of Dale, but the Hobbits being there significantly decreased chances of winning.

There were a few Hobbits within the group able to utilize their Gifts for fighting, but most did not have a Gift that could be harnessed for battle.

On top of that, the Dwarrow and Men of Dale would need to split their focus between fighting and keeping the Hobbits alive.

The Men of the Lake, however, could use the chaos to cause their own trouble.

And Primula, sweet and fierce Prim, would be targeted for the position she was claiming.

She and the babe were in danger.

_That_ was not something Bilbo was willing to chance.

So, the only option was to make a stand before the Orcs could reach the company.

It had to be far enough away to not bring the attention of the Dwarrow to them, but close enough so that Bilbo would be able to take Fíli to his kin immediately after the trap was sprung.

She knew she couldn't take them all on in her current state, but she certainly could kill a fair bit and cause chaos between the survivors.

Fíli just needed to stay with Prince and wait until she came for them.

He'd been against it, but Bilbo was not going to let him fight while injured.

His head wound was healing quickly under her attentions, but that didn't mean it would not hinder his fighting abilities.

It was best she see through her trap alone.

Regardless of how a certain Dwarf felt about it.

“I really think I should be allowed to help,” Fíli said suddenly as if sensing her thoughts. “I don't need to wait with the pony.”

Bilbo sighed in annoyance, but did not turn to face the Dwarf. The Orcs were minutes away from the position she needed them in. Fíli had two minutes to leave her side before she tossed him off her perch herself.

“Go sit with Prince, Fíli,” she drawled, completely unimpressed with his sudden attitude change towards her.

He'd certainly always been protective of her, but his actions lately were somehow different.

Where he before wanted to help her despite accepting she could handle things herself, now it felt like Fíli felt he _should_ help her. As if he were required to do the harder tasks in her place.

It annoyed her, but Bilbo couldn't fathom the reason for his sudden change.

Ever since she told the lad of her conection to Bungo, he seemed almost afraid to touch her.

Where before he would readily offer a friendly touch, now he was restraining himself.

She wondered if it was some odd Dwarven sign of respect for the parent of a daughter, but she'd never heard of it if it even was such a thing.

Either way, Bilbo had grown tired fairly quickly of Fíli's behavior that had grown more protective and tense as they traveled together.

Part of her regretted telling the Dwarf about his connection to her father, but there was nothing to be done for it.

She'd said what she needed to say.

And now she had to suffer a tense traveling companion.

And two far too amused Valar.

“I wish to stay with you. I can help. You will need it.”

Bilbo flinched at the tone. She wasn't sure why, but it _hurt_ to hear Fíli did not trust in her abilities to see her plan to the end.

She'd been traveling all of Arda since she was twenty.

She'd fought next to Rangers, Warrior-Men, Wizards, Elves, Eagles, Skin-changers, and Hobbits against the dark forces of the world.

Bilbo did not need anyone to approve her plan to know it was a good one.

She did not need some Dwarf to believe in her abilities to know she could see the job done.

That didn't mean she didn't wish Fíli did have faith in her as a warrior-maiden.

As someone he could depend on.

“I thank you for your opinion of my capabilities as a guard, but I will manage just fine. I am, after all, a grown Hobbit woman who has been using such tactics to protect the caravans since I was thirty,” she reminded, narrowing her gaze when a look of disbelief crossed his face. “Regardless of your low opinion of my person, Master Dwarf, I am able to handle things myself. _Leave_.”

It was an order.

One packed with just as much hurt in it as commanding force.

His mouth snapped shut despite the obvious expression of challenge burning in his eyes. Fíli stepped back, shoulders set in a tense line of frustration, and quickly scaled back down the rocks to move to Prince who waited at the end of the pass in the shadows.

Bilbo sighed quietly and locked away the hurt bubbling up to sting her eyes.

The Orcs would be in the middle of the path in another minute.

She had spent two hours hurriedly preparing the area to see her plan through.

She was _not_ going to let injured pride and an aching heart mess things up.

Later, Bilbo would get to the bottom of Fíli's sudden change in behavior.

For now, she had Orcs to kill.

_Just another minute_ , Bilbo thought, slowly sliding into position.

Beside her lay a pile of smooth stones ready for her to grab the moment the Orcs were where she wanted them.

As the bulk of the group reached the center, Bilbo sprang into action.

Stone after stone flew from her steady hand with an accuracy that an Elf would praise, and a strength a Dwraf would boast about.

Each struck true against nearly identical sticks braced beneath loosened stone scattered throughout the rock walls.

With each hit, the snap of a branch could be heard.

The Orcs heard a moment too late.

They looked up, eyes searching for the source of the noise as the Wargs suddenly tried to break free from their chains, and screeched as the avalanche started.

Rocks of all sizes fell to encase the Orcs in eternal darkness.

Some tried to escape, stabbing and beheading one another in their attempt to get to safety, but none escaped the rocky prison.

Bilbo, however, was not foolish enough to think all the Orcs were dead by such a trick.

Though the smaller ones would no doubt die from being crushed by the largest of the rocks, the biggest of the Orcs would only be, if lucky, injured.

She moved swiftly as the rocks settled to take up a position closer to the end of the narrow pass, but still within the shadows of the wall.

Her eyes and ears remained alert, several stones in hands, and her Gift gently thrummed through her in search of life beneath the stone.

She wasn't surprised when several vibrations confirming life came back to her.

Bilbo was, however, shocked when her Gift picked up something else.

_Fíli!_

Her mind screeched at sensing him on the other wall, far too close to the edge, and moving steadily towards one of the corrupted creatures still breathing beneath the rubble.

She didn't even need to guess who the lad was going after.

_He is most certainly a son of Durin! Blasted stone-headed fools!_

The Stone Father responded to her snarled thoughts with a hum of apology.

Lady Yavanna only sent sympathy.

Ignoring them both, Bilbo stood to begin waving frantically at the Dwarf with a death wish.

He paid her no mind as he quickly scaled down the wall to approach the shifting rubble, blade in hand and steps steady.

Sadly, steady steps did not mean quiet ones.

Fíli's position was given away before the Dwarf could reach.

“Fíli!”

She screamed for him as the Pale Orc surged up from the stone, bruised and bleeding but very much alive, and swung his bladed arm up at the surprised Dwarf.

Fíli saved his head only by shoving himself back.

He landed on the rocks with a grunt of pain, sliding down the slope on his back, and let out a yell when the Pale Orc lunged forward to dig curved claws into the flesh above his knee.

Bilbo screeched in fury, traded safety for speed, and threw herself from her hiding spot even as the last of her stones left her hand to batter the Orc's arm so that he'd release the Dwarf.

She landed in the middle of the narrow pass, wincing at the pain suddenly burning in her ankle, and bolted forward in the same moment Fíli began siding down the rest of the slope.

The Orc roared, calling forth his hunters who survived, and pushed himself to his full height with a cruel grin.

“Ah. Durin blood,” he hissed, eyes alight with malice as he licked the blood from his claws. “The young ones always scream the best.”

Fíli cursed, roaring insults at the Orc, and tried his best to scoot to the bottom of the pile.

“The stone, Fíli! Focus on it!” Bilbo tried her best to get the Dwarf to listen to the warning being screamed through the rock as he continued to crawl away from the approaching Orc, but it seemed his anger had taken control. Her plea was ignored.

A blade shooting up from the rubble to slash across an unprotected chest was the price for such inattention.

Fíli roared in pain as he rolled the rest of the way to the ground.

Bilbo was on him the moment he stopped.

“Ah, a Hobbit,” the Pale Orc grinned cruelly, sniffing the air like a beast on the hunt as he approached. Around him the rubble began to shake in time with his laughter. The bloodied arms of his hunters ripped free of the stone as they began to struggle out of the rocky tomb. His second-in-command heaved his upper half free, the blade that stabbed Fíli still in hand, and looked at them with dark glee. “Or should I say half-breed, Daughter of Durin?”

Bilbo didn't have time to worry if Fíli heard the Orc, or be shocked he figured it out so quickly. If he really could tell by the smell and taste of blood, the wounds on her legs from the high jump were answer enough.

She snarled, whipped several of Fíli's hidden daggers free, and let them loose even as she whistled sharply.

The Pale Orc rose his bladed arm to defend against a few, but several managed to sink into his flesh.

He growled at the wounds, yelling an order to his soldiers, and bellowed in rage when Prince came into view.

He skidded to a stop beside them, bending down to collect his riders, and huffed a worried breath.

Bilbo would have lunged for her pony before he stopped, but Fíli was unconscious.

He could not get himself on the pony.

Bilbo didn't hesitate.

She turned her back to the enemy, shielding her fallen companion, and hurriedly hauled him over Prince's back.

The sound of air rapidly parting was the only warning she got before a dagger sank into her shoulder.

She didn't so much as flinch as she tossed herself on Prince, her body still covering Fíli's despite the strain it put on the wound.

“ _Hurry, Prince!_ ”

He sped off, hooves eating the ground at a speed a normal pony couldn't hope to reach, and called to her in worry.

Bilbo didn't have time to answer.

She reached in her pack, grabbing one of the fine dresses at the bottom, and began shredding the material with little care for her own bleeding wound.

Fíli groaned as she pressed the fabric into the wound, but he did not wake.

Bilbo grit her teeth in anger at his foolish actions, but worry for the lad was far stronger than anything else.

Her own wound had been caused by one of Fíli's daggers. It had been one the Orc blocked, so she didn't need to worry about infection from a dirty blade or poison.

Fíli, on the other hand, had the nails and blade of an Orc slice through flesh to draw blood.

She didn't think the blade had been poisoned, but it wasn't something she could chance.

Taking a breath, Bilbo reached within to pull on her Gift.

Yavanna answered immediately.

Her warmth filled her, pushing through her veins like sunshine and spring air, to bring forth a faint golden glow.

Lady Yavanna whispered instructions even as Prince ducked into the woods off the clear path to stay hidden from any that may try and give chase.

Bilbo listened, trusting her companion to keep them both safe, and hurriedly removed the plant she'd tucked away earlier from the coat pocket.

Ignoring the blood that quickly welled when she pulled the fabric away, Bilbo placed the plant at the center of the wound and pushed it in.

Fíli tried to fight her off, but he was too weak.

Still, Bilbo shifted so that she could press her forehead against his to stop him from lunging forward once Yavanna's power flowed through her to reach the plant.

Fíli screamed once the golden glow surrounded the bloodied herbs.

Bilbo winced.

The blade _had_ been poisoned, then.

Bilbo kept hold of him, humming a lullaby Bungo used to sing to her, and keeping her eyes closed in concentration as Yavanna used her power over all things that grew to enhance the potency of the plant to burn the poison out of Fíli's body.

Minutes or hours could have passed for all that Bilbo knew.

A single second of hearing Fíli scream was too much.

Her foolish Dwarf was one of warm smiles and shy grins.

Pain wasn't meant to be in the voice that both commanded and soothed.

Still, Yavanna eventually pulled back.

It left Bilbo feeling drained, but she fought the dizziness and the approaching darkness with the same force of will that saw her through torture and terror.

She could not sleep.

If she did, Fíli would not make it to his kin in time to be healed.

She did not have enough supplies to treat such a large wound.

She didn't have any more plants.

Beorn was too far away.

Fíli's only hope was the Dwarven Camp.

He had told her between their arguments over her plan that the camp was eight hours from their location.

With her muttering blessings for swiftness and strength over Prince with the help of Yavanna and Mahal, they'd get there in five.

As long as she stayed awake, Fíli would survive.

Because neither Yavanna or Mahal could aide her if her own body failed her.

She had to have the strength to trade for their own.

If they tried to take over, there was no chance she would survive the trade of power.

Already she barely had enough energy to lift her head from Fíli's.

“Five hours,” she muttered, eyes set ahead on a destination she could not yet see. “Five hours.”

-LoSF-

Víli grit his teeth to avoid wincing at the sudden cries of dismay from the Hobbits when they were close enough to spot their kin within the Dwarven Camp.

A few lurched forward as if to run to the Hobbits huddled in groups among the tents with flags showing allegiance to Erebor, Greenwood, Dale, and Lake-town.

They were stopped by the quick hands of the Hobbits closest to them.

Many eyes glowing with betrayal and fear turned to him, but he didn't acknowledge them.

Instead, he kept his arms steady around the Thain-Heir who sat stiffly in front of him.

A shiver shaking her head to toe was his first warning of her shattering emotional state.

“You've captured us all,” she spat, tone blistering with rage and something not unlike terror.

“We have harmed no one,” he said gently, knowing her husband was among those captured in the settlement by the cliffs. “You will see your kin soon.”

The Hobbit laughed wetly.

“Oh, she will kill you, Dwarf. Whatever steps you've made towards friendship are for naught. The moment my cousin sees what you've done, she will kill you for the betrayal of trust.”

Víli didn't answer.

There was nothing he could say to that.

It was what he himself feared.

“Take her to Ori for freshening up first,” Frerin called at his side, riding behind a stone-faced Flambard. Víli wasn't sure which of them had the most dangerous Hobbit in that moment. “I will get the rest of the Hobbits to the main tent so they may rest and eat.”

Víli nodded and veered off.

He tried not to focus on the increasing strength of the Hobbit woman's shaking, but it was pointless.

“We will not hurt you. All of you are safe.”

“Oh, certainly. I will believe that once we've returned home with a promise to never be bothered by the likes of you again.”

Víli winced at the tears in her voice.

He had known something like this was going to happen.

It took several minutes to get to the tent, but the Thain-Heir, or at least the one who claimed to be her, didn't stop shaking.

Silent sobs shook her, and she kept the hood of her cloak lowered far over her head.

He wasn't surprised to see tears on her cheeks when he slid from the pony.

“Let me help you down.”

Her expression contorted in fury. He was prepared for her to refuse him, but she glanced down at her stomach, a flicker that could easily be missed, before nodding and placing a trembling hand in his.

As he lifted her tiny frame from the pony to deposit her safely between two Dams, his guilt doubled.

He had felt the frantic kicking of the babe she carried.

It was _their_ fault a woman with child was so struck in terror that even her babe had become frantic.

Worry gnawed at him for both the mother and her unborn child.

Stress, as he learned from his own experience, was not good for either the mother or child.

“I will send the Guard to you as soon as she shows. No meeting will be held until she is present to defend you,” he vowed.

She didn't answer, but the pulse at her throat slowed.

She nodded, eyes somewhat dry as she peered at him, and turned away on silent feet.

Víli felt utterly useless as she disappeared behind the tent.

“Has the Hobbit caused you problems?”

Víli turned at the familiar voice just behind his shoulder.

“Not exactly,” he answered, eyeing Balin's tired expression with surprise. “Has something been going on here?”

“The Thain of the Hobbits has argued us at every turn,” Balin explained. “He's refused any negotiations at all until his heir could be present. He's even threatened to rip up the current contract if we try to move the Hobbits to a safer location.”

Víli only just managed to keep the knowing grin off his face. Balin, the sharp bastard, would know something was going on immediately if he saw it.

“Have you come to speak with her?”

“Aye.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to wait.” Víli tried desperately not to laugh at the advisor's expression.

“And _why_ must I continue to wait any longer than I have?”

“Many reasons,” he answered, throwing an arm around Balin's sturdy shoulders. “One, a woman should always be give time to freshen up when she first arrives. Two, she is a little shaken up at seeing the other Hobbits being held here. Three, and this is really the most important, no meeting with be allowed to commence without the Guard being with her.”

“What?” Balin stopped walking, pulling Víli to a stop just outside the tent he was looking for, and glared up at him. “She must have a guard?”

“Not just any guard. _The_ Guard. We don't know her name. She's the one who has been protecting the Hobbits.”

“Pro...” Balin fell silent with a tired sigh. Then, without even looking, he reached out and snatched Frerin's collar as he tried to sneak by them. “Forget it. We will _all_ have a full explanation _now_. Our King is waiting. The Thain is being kept with King Bard and his Royal Guard to make sure he doesn't pass on any information to his kin. A meeting is to take place in one hour.”

Without any further warning, Balin shoved both the protesting Dwarrow into the tent with a huff of agitation.

Víli scowled, but immediately turned to seek out his wife.

Dís smiled at him, but her brows instantly pinched at getting a look at his face. That in turn got Dori's attention, who stood at her back in his personalized Queen's Guard uniform.

Víli did his best not to grimace.

Frerin, who had gone very still beside him, was having the same struggle with Thorin.

“Something has happened,” their King and brother rumbled, rubbing at his brow in exasperation. Dwalin, ever the shadow at his back, snorted in amusement. “What did you do?”

Frerin grimaced, an instant sign for all to begin worrying, but Víli rushed to speak before he could say something too soon.

“Fíli has been separated from the company.” The sight of his wife's eyes growing wide as her face turned pale sent him rushing across the tent to grasp her balled fists. “Bofur can still sense him. He says he often feels closer. Sometimes his bond feels more alert, but other times it feels as it does when he is sleeping. He does not travel alone.”

“Some of the Dwarrow–” Thorin stopped at the shake of his Frerin's head. “The Men of Dale? Do not tell me he is with the Master's Men.”

“He is with the Hobbit Guard,” Frerin said around a sigh. Beside him, Balin frowned.

“The Guard who is meant to be with the Thain-Heir? The one who must be present before I can meet with her?”

“That doesn't matter,” Dís said between clenched teeth. “My son? What has happened to my Fíli?”

Víli _ached_ to see her so pained.

“We were attacked by Goblins. He fell off the path and down into the Misty Mountains saving a Dwarf who had put himself at risk to save a Hobbit lass. The Hobbit Guard, we do not know her name, dove after him. The Hobbits assured us the fall would not kill her. Bofur was able to confirm Fíli was alive and well, too. He's updated us every few hours. Each time Fíli is closer to us. He will be brought home soon.”

Dís studied him, looking into his eyes to read his thoughts in a way that only she knew how to, and twisted her hands to return his grip.

“You have faith in this guard,” she muttered, eyes shining but not welled with tears. “You believe she will bring him back to us.”

“I do.”

“Why? Has she proven herself so completely to you in such a short time?”

Víli smiled, but it felt strained on his face. “She has, but her second-in-command has confirmed who her father is.”

“And?”

“She is claimed by Bungo,” he answered softly, nodding at his wife's light gasp. He closed his eyes as Dís leaned forward to rest her forehead against his own. “I cannot doubt any child of his.”

Víli didn't need to say the child wasn't actually Bungo's.

Just as he knew, Dís was also aware the Hobbit could not have his own children.

And just like himself, his wife knew the importance of Bungo claiming the girl as his own daughter.

Because he'd explained what it meant for a Hobbit with his Gift to claim any child as their own in any form when he'd placed a claim on Fíli.

With that in mind, there was no room for doubt.

“I trust in your instincts,” Dís finally said around a relieved sigh. “Now, tell us what has happened.”

Víli looked to Frerin to see if he needed help getting started, but the Elder Prince was already shifting his stance to one that meant he was ready to give a report.

And it certainly was one to remember.

Though he skipped nearly all the personal, amusing details in order to stick with the important events, the report was still impressive.

The Royal Family of Erebor was known to keep their emotions in check when it came to their positions, but not a Dwarf or Dam in the tent was looking at Frerin through a carefully crafted mask by the time he finished speaking.

Instead, a stunned silence hung in the air as each Dwarf slowly processed the lengthy report. Dwalin, unsurprisingly, was the one who broke the silence in his usual blunt manner.

“So, ye left 'ere with twenty Men from the Master near 'bouts five months ago, 'nd returned without nine of 'em.”

Frerin nodded.

“Good,” Dwalin grumbled, rolling his eyes when Balin chided him. “I told ye those men were bad news. They 'aven't even been in Lake-town fer more 'an two months 'fore we started our trek over. None from the Lake but the Master 'nd 'is goons wanted us to take 'em. Better off dead after wha' they tried, anyways. Guard should get a reward.”

Thorin frowned at the explanation, looking to Frerin under a heavily furrowed brow. Many would think him angry, but Víli knew him well enough to know he was actually deep in thought.

“You said the Men from the Lake have shown signs of madness?”

“Aye,” Frerin agreed. “I thought they may be taking something to suddenly show such obvious signs, but Nori found nothing on any of the deceased. He searched the packs of those left. They carry nothing suspicious. No odd powders or oils. No strange roots, either.”

“Do you think it may have to do with the ones who were behind the madness in the mountain,” Dís asked quietly, somewhat hesitant to bring up the painful times they all suffered through.

“Possibly.” Frerin shrugged, but their was a glint in his eyes that suggested he did in fact have his own thoughts on the matter. “Nori and I are looking into it more. If someone is controlling them somehow, we will find out.”

“Very well. Keep me updated on your investigation.” Thorin leaned back in his chair, a troubled sigh following his movement. “The Master can do nothing about the lost Men. They broke oath by attacking a Dam and a Hobbit. They knew the risks. I worry not for what he may say. I do, however, worry for this Hobbit Guard. If she is so sought after by these Men, why not assign her personal protection?”

Víli snorted before he could stop himself.

“I was the only one who could get near her. Even then, she nearly ripped my head off at first. She has a bladed tongue and enough strength to back up any threat she makes. Over half the company dive out of her way when she gets going. Fíli, eventually, earned her trust. Other than that, the only one she would allow around her early on was Bifur.”

“Bifur?” Thorin raised both brows in surprise.

“Aye. All the Hobbits like him.”

“Not a surprise,” Dwalin said around a grin. “Tha' Dwarf prefers flowers o'er rocks.”

“I see. Perhaps it was best to let her be then. It doesn't sound like many in the company were willing to stand in her way.” Thorin raised a brow at Víli. “I'm surprised you approached her.”

“She is the Thain-Heir's Personal Guard, the head of the Hobbit Caravan, and the only one who would be able to really harm our company. Besides, we could not approach any of the other Hobbits without going through her first. She'd have you sprawled and winded if you dared to try.”

Dís chuckled at his expression, offering a bittersweet smile. “So, the daughter you have always wanted? Just like the one he promised us?”

Víli nodded, but chose to place a kiss to his wife's temple instead of replying to the question they both already knew the answer to. Though they both wished for a chance to have a girl of their own, Kíli's birth had left her barren.

She'd been ill from the very start of the pregnancy, growing weak and dizzy from being unable to stomach more than broth on her good days, and had gone into labor a month early.

Dís and Kíli barely survived the birth. They had only managed to pull themselves from the doors to Mahal's Halls with the help of a frantic Bungo Baggins.

Had his young friend not rushed from the mountains a month prior, claiming his Gift was guiding his path from the Dwarven settlement, young Bungo would not have made it to the road where Lord Elrond was saying his goodbyes to Lady Galadriel.

The Elven Lady of Light had taken one look at Bungo, saw the loss that was to come if the Hobbit didn't immediately turn back to the mountain with a Healer, and implored Lord Elrond to follow with his children.

Thankfully, the Elven Lord complied.

They'd arrived minutes before it would have been too late to save Dís, and only a moment before life completely left Kíli.

His sons and daughter had immediately moved to Dís, but Elrond himself took Kíli into his arms to bring the weakened body the strength it needed to continue the fight for life.

Both had survived the night, and grew stronger with every passing day.

Though neither were lost, his wife's body, already weakened by months of illness, had taken on too much stress from the birth.

The Elves gave them ill news when Dís was strong enough to hear it.

They'd mourned and celebrated together.

It was Bungo who had told them over the head of their sleeping eldest son that they would one day have a daughter, but that daughter would not be the same as them.

Dís hadn't wanted to hear it, but she'd still listened.

For everything Bungo said always came to be.

With his Gift of the Vine, something Bungo had broken Hobbit tradition over by telling him about extensively, Víli knew better than to doubt his friend.

Not with the ability he possessed.

So, Víli knew as Dís did that the daughter they wanted but could not have had finally come.

Even if she decided to be with her sire once the truth of her birth came to light, the lass would be welcomed as their daughter-in-law in time.

Just as Ori would be.

_Of course_ , Víli thought with a huff, _that is if Kíli can focus long enough to decide upon the final courting gift._

“What are you thinking of?” Dís picked up his shift in mood immediately.

“Kíli,” he answered immediately. “Where is that son of ours?”

Dís frowned, looking to the silver-haired Dwarf at her back. Dori sighed in response.

“The last time I checked on him, Prince Kíli was preparing one of the ponies for a short ride. He seemed agitated, but wouldn't answer as to why.”

“He's been feeling rather caged after being stuck in the camp without being able to travel for more than quick hunting trips the last few months,” Dís explained.

Víli nodded in understanding. Their son had never been one to sit still for long.

“Perhaps I'll fetch him. Which way did he ride?”

Dori frowned in response to the question saying, “He rode off the way you came. Did you not see him on the main path? The lad has been traveling it nearly every day the last two weeks to watch for signs of your return.”

“No. He was not on the main path.” Víli shook his head, standing as a sudden tension settled over his shoulders. “How long has he been gone?”

“Five hours,” Dori answered after a moment of thought. “He left five hours ago. Not unusual. Most of his trips last six to eight unless he promises to be back quickly.”

“Five,” Frerin echoed, looking to Víli with growing concern. “And you said he seemed agitated?”

“Aye.”

“Why?” Thorin looked between Frerin and Víli with narrowed eyes. “What significance does it hold?”

“Bofur,” Frerin started slowly, “sensed a ripple through the Bond with Fíli. He threw his consciousness along the path the moment he felt it, but Fíli seemed to feel at rest. It was a peaceful slumber, as far as he could sense, so we didn't worry much over it.”

“He sensed a strong enough feeling to cause a ripple through the Forged Bond and you weren't concerned?” Thorin's scowl didn't bode well for anyone.

“Ah, well, the Hobbit Guard who is with him tends to bring out strong emotions in our nephew. Bofur has been blocking them out of respect, but he's left the bond wide open in order to sense anything from Fíli since he fell. We figured he just had another strong reaction to her.”

Dís narrowed her eyes at the answer. She looked at Víli in a way that reminded him strongly of the Hobbit Guard.

“Strong emotions?”

Frerin and Víli shared a look, but neither said anything.

“How long ago was the ripple,” Thorin demanded.

“Five hours ago.”

Balin hummed in thought at the news, pulling worriedly at his beard.

“Blessed Bonds can sense things more clearly than Forged Bonds. At a large distance, Bofur may have felt a ripple of something of no real structure, while Kíli very well may have felt something much stronger.”

Víli looked to Dís, who was watching him with eyes brimming with a silent plea, and nodded.

“I'm going to look for my sons,” he spoke to Frerin. “The Hobbits are now safe. There is no reason for me not to go.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “I will go with you.”

They both turned, fully prepared to begin traveling immediately, but halted as a sudden burst of noise came from the Hobbits within the camp.

Dwarrow and Men responded with shouts and grunts.

The loud shriek of a stomping pony sounded nearby.

And, bellowing over all the noise, was a single roar of Hobbitish that blasted through the air like a winter gale.

Frerin and Víli locked eyes across the tent. A loaded look full of some hidden meaning passed between them before they both lurched forward in a dash towards the commotion.

Thorin, with Dwalin a step behind, was hot on their heels.

He called to them, but they didn't stop.

They couldn't stop because they knew that wrathful bellow echoing across the camp over the shouts of Men and Dwarrow.

The Guard had finally returned.

And something had unleashed her fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview of next Chapter:
> 
> -LoSF-
> 
> Pain radiated up and down her shoulder with every step Prince took, but Bilbo only grit her teeth against it and focused on the path ahead.
> 
> The dagger had remained where it had lodged as the hours slowly crawled by.
> 
> She could not reach it to remove it, and she was certain the bleeding would turn from a slow trickle to a flowing river if it was taken out.
> 
> She, too, would have to wait for treatment at the Dwarven camp.
> 
> Soon, she thought, blinking away the shadows creeping at the corners of her eyes. We will be there soon.
> 
> Bilbo had managed to slowly gather energy from the low hanging branches and the tall flowers Prince had ran though. She pulled on the strength each plant willingly gave and gathered it close to keep conscious, but it was only just enough.
> 
> Prince had broken free from the trees several minutes ago, and she was already filling the loss of the support the Green Lady's creations gave her.
> 
> Still, Bilbo clung to consciousness.
> 
> She'd nearly finished three hours of the trip to the Dwarven camp.
> 
> She would make it through the final two.
> 
> There was no other choice.
> 
> “Hold on just a little longer, Fíli,” she murmured softly, clinging to the body tucked carefully at her front.
> 
> Her legs had gone numb under his weight long ago, but she did not dare to shift the Dwarf in either of their states.
> 
> Prince did his best to keep the ride smooth for them, but there was only so much he could do.
> 
> They'd stayed off the main path to avoid bandits or any other unsavory creatures as long as they could, but they had no choice but to step upon a less known trail the moment the trees could no longer offer them protection.
> 
> Soon, they would be at the fork that would allow Prince to cross onto the main path.
> 
> Then, it was a straight shot to where the Dwarven Camp was located.
> 
> Bilbo could only hope she wouldn't encounter any further trouble with her Dwarf unconscious due to the kind mercy of the Green Lady. She sent him into a deep, restful sleep so that his body would not take on any other damage while burning away the poison, but Bilbo could not afford such a rest.
> 
> She had no time to heal, no time to rest, and no time to meditate in order to recover some energy.
> 
> And, as it would appear, she had no more luck to aide her, either.
> 
> Not if the arrow soaring her way was anything to go by.


	15. FIFTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Apologies. I planned on posting this at 3AM this morning with the other two chapters, but my toddler woke up sick at 2 and never went back to sleep.
> 
> So, sorry for the delay!
> 
> And here is a little extra piece of info that will pop up soon: Fíli (64) Kíli (59) Bilbo (50) Ori (61) with the recognized age of an adult Dwarf being (75) and an adult Dwobbit being (70).
> 
> I had mentioned early through Frerin's perspective that Fíli was not yet of age (Chapter 1). This is just a bit of explanation for that.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

-LoSF-

Pain radiated up and down her shoulder with every step Prince took, but Bilbo only grit her teeth against it and focused on the path ahead.

The dagger had remained where it had lodged as the hours slowly crawled by.

She could not reach it to remove it, and she was certain the bleeding would turn from a slow trickle to a flowing river if it was taken out.

She, too, would have to wait for treatment at the Dwarven camp.

_Soon_ , she thought, blinking away the shadows creeping at the corners of her eyes. _We will be there soon._

Bilbo had managed to slowly gather energy from the low hanging branches and the tall flowers Prince had ran though. She pulled on the strength each plant willingly gave and gathered it close to keep conscious, but it was only just enough.

Prince had broken free from the trees several minutes ago, and she was already filling the loss of the support the Green Lady's creations gave her.

Still, Bilbo clung to consciousness.

She'd nearly finished three hours of the trip to the Dwarven camp.

She would make it through the final two.

There was no other choice.

“Hold on just a little longer, Fíli,” she murmured softly, clinging to the body tucked carefully at her front.

Her legs had gone numb under his weight long ago, but she did not dare to shift the Dwarf in either of their states.

Prince did his best to keep the ride smooth for them, but there was only so much he could do.

They'd stayed off the main path to avoid bandits or any other unsavory creatures as long as they could, but they had no choice but to step upon a less known trail the moment the trees could no longer offer them protection.

Soon, they would be at the fork that would allow Prince to cross onto the main path.

Then, it was a straight shot to where the Dwarven Camp was located.

Bilbo could only hope she wouldn't encounter any further trouble with her Dwarf unconscious due to the kind mercy of the Green Lady. She sent him into a deep, restful sleep so that his body would not take on any other damage while burning away the poison, but Bilbo could not afford such a rest.

She had no time to heal, no time to rest, and no time to meditate in order to recover some energy.

And, as it would appear, she had no more luck to aide her, either.

Not if the arrow soaring her way was anything to go by.

It sliced open a thin line at her cheek instead of piercing her head only because she jerked her neck to the side in time. She looked ahead, ears twitching at the sound of metal embedding into packed soil further back, and met the enraged eyes of a Dwarf glaring her down.

Oddly, despite the extreme differences in coloring, the Dwarf looked like Fíli.

More than that, however, he looked like Víli.

With dark hair and dark eyes set upon a face similar in shape to Fíli's, but a bow in hand that could be the very twin of Víli's, the lad with only a scruff of a beard covering his pale cheeks was no doubt related to them both.

“Who are you,” she called, gut churning to hear the answer. She had very little doubt that the Dwarf in front of her with an arrow drawn and ready to fly towards her head was Fíli's little brother, Kíli. Bilbo didn't, however have any idea as to how he found them.

“Release him,” he ordered, voice firm with command and rage.

Bilbo frowned, shaking away the spots dancing in her vision, and returned the Dwarf's glare.

“I cannot. He needs to see a Healer.”

“Then hand him to me,” he snarled, pulling the string back. “Or the next one goes in your head.”

Bilbo bristled at the threat, but swallowed any retort as her ears twitched at the sound of rocks crunching beneath heavy boots.

She glanced up, hurriedly looking between the rocks on either side of her, and then back at the Dwarf sitting atop a huffing pony. The beast looked ready to fall over, sides heaving as it sucked in much needed air, and snapped angrily at the too tight bit.

The Dwarf must have pushed the creature hard to reach them quickly. It didn't look as though he had been just waiting for them to pass.

“Did you come alone?”

“Why do you ask? Do you think you can escape if it is just me blocking your path?”

“Hush,” she snapped, clicking her tongue to usher her pony slowly forward. “Are you alone?”

The lad flinched at her sharp tone, eyes suddenly sparking with annoyance rather than rage, and lowered the bow only a hair.

“Do not think to distract–”

Bilbo was shaking her head, body curling protectively over Fíli as the sound of shifting stone grew louder, and cut the Dwarf off with a fierce look.

“We need to move. Turn your pony around. Now,” she whispered.

“Do not think to order me around!” His voice bounced off the rocks, drowning out all other noise. “I see a dagger belonging to that Dwarf in your shoulder! I know he has fought against you!”

“You think him to be the type of filth to attack a woman from behind,” she hissed right back, startling him. “Quiet. Do as I say.”

“I will not!”

“Hush,” she whispered, moving slowly closer. “I need to hear.”

“Stay where you are,” he roared, cutting off a familiar sound before she could figure out exactly what it was. “Put my–”

The Dwarf's words turned into a yell of pain as an arrow embedded itself into his shoulder, knocking him off the pony with the force of the hit.

Bilbo ordered Prince forward quickly as several arrows pierced the flesh of the Dwarf's pony.

The poor creature swayed, thrashing strong hind legs out weakly as it went down, and caught the Dwarf with a glancing kick to the upper leg as he tried to stand.

He fell back down with a shout of pain, and cursed when the beast fell upon his outstretched arm.

Bilbo winced as the sound of bone snapping rang in her ears.

“Great shot, boys!” A voice from the top of the rocks was answered with the cackles of many. Bilbo grimaced, but kept her eyes on the Dwarf carefully pulling his arm free with a pained expression.

“You think you can capture us both,” the Dwarf hissed when she reached him.

She rolled her eyes, balanced Fíli carefully as Prince knelt, and hurried to free her own legs so that she could help the downed Dwarf.

“Hurry,” she said, voice firm and heavy with authority. “We must be out of the pass before they climb down.”

She yanked the bow and dropped arrows off the ground before reaching out to grasp the gaping Dwarf.

He grunted when her small hands slid under his arms, and let out a surprised huff of air when she hauled him easily to his feet despite her own wound.

Now that she was standing on earth and stone, the Green Lady and Stone Father were pushing strength into her body as quickly as they could to prepare her for a long fight.

The moment she was back on Prince, however, they would not be able to directly send her strength.

She'd be on her own with two injured Durin idiots and a party of bandits at their throats.

Bilbo really questioned her luck.

“What are you doing?”

Bilbo didn't bother answering.

She snatched a dagger off the dark-haired Dwarf and quickly sliced through the leather and rope ties latching the extra supplies to Prince.

They fell to the ground with loud thumps, each one heavier than the last, until only her own pack remained underneath Fíli.

“Cover Fíli,” Bilbo ordered, throwing the Dwarf on Prince's back as gently as she could with his injuries.

He stuttered out an incoherent string of sounds in his confusion, but the youngster obeyed readily enough now that he understood she wasn't the enemy.

Bilbo bent down, swiping up the blanket off the downed pony, and jumped atop Prince just a second before an arrow pierced the ground where her feet were a moment before.

She twisted around, dagger in hand, and threw with precise aim into the shadows from where the arrow came.

A body fell to the ground with a sickening crunch a moment later.

“Mahal,” the Dwarf croaked as he eyed the Men rushing towards them.

“Keep quiet,” she growled, shoving the lad forward as she pulled her feet up to slide her least injured ankle between the thin blanket and saddle. The other slid to rest further back against Prince's spine. Then, with teeth gritting against the pain in her ankle, she stood so that the new Dwarf could easily lay in the saddle across from Fíli. “Throw your uninjured arm around him. There is a leather strap attached to the pack beneath him to hold onto.”

The Dwarf did as ordered with a rapidly paling face and labored breathing. Despite the obvious signs of pain, he did not complain at his assigned task.

He was just as driven to protect Fíli as herself.

Bilbo couldn't hold back a fond smile.

“Good lad. Stay down. Keep hold of Fíli. He has fresh wounds to his chest and knee,” she said swiftly, nudging Prince into a run even as she bent at the waist to tuck the thick blanket around the two Dwarrow to further protect them both. “You cannot help with a broken arm and injured leg. I'll do what I can to keep the Men away.”

The Dwarf grumbled something, but it was weak and slurred.

Bilbo cursed.

She wouldn't be surprised if the arrow had been coated with something to knock the Dwarf out.

If it wasn't, there was no other reason for the Men to deliberately aim for his shoulder instead of something far more vital.

“Great. Two unconscious sons of Durin and a whole party of bandits.” The Dwarf didn't answer her grumbling. She hadn't expected him to.

“I'm sorry, Prince,” Bilbo whispered to her overworked pony. He was doing well, but Kíli's added weight was no doubt tiring his already worn body. She hummed as she readied the bow she'd swiped, ears already catching onto the sounds of hooves nearby, and transferred what little energy she could spare from her time on the earth into Prince with Yavanna's guidance.

It would have to be enough.

With a breath to still her trembling muscles, Bilbo twisted at the waist to begin firing all the arrows the lad had left as quickly as she could.

She aimed for the horses first, sending an apology to Yavanna for hurting such beautiful creatures, and growled at the few Men who managed to swipe the arrows out of the way with lightweight shields.

The Men cackled as they chased her, barking out raspy laughter and howling sharply like beasts on a scent, and waved their weapons around in an attempt to scare her.

Bilbo snarled.

The closest Man laughed.

“See that fellas? Gots ourselves a wild kitten!”

Laughter followed his statement along with lewd gestures.

The Green Lady's strength hissed through her blood in outrage at such disrespect to one of her children.

The Stone Father answered his wife's anger with a roar of power through her heart.

Bilbo took a calming breath, trying to make a plan, and let the last arrow fly.

The Man who'd been making the worst of the gestures fell with an arrow through his eye.

The horse, pulled to side by the sudden weight of the Man's body hanging over him, rammed into the nearest rider to send that horse stumbling into the path of another.

Five horses with their Men were down by the time the dust settled.

Seven were still pursuing.

“I can't stop. Fíli can't be delayed any longer,” Bilbo said, mind whirring as she glanced at her surroundings. They were on the main path, with no help in sight, and still over an hour to go before they would reach the Dwarven camp. If she was close enough, she could use the earth to call to her people and the stone to warn the Dwarrow. But they were too far away. “I'm on my own.”

Prince huffed in response, but Bilbo only had time to pay her loyal friend a fond smile before her eyes were once more on the Men.

The horses would no doubt catch up.

But they'd be in range of the daggers she'd swiped from Fíli far before they could get their own weapons near the brothers.

She only hoped her shoulder, now bleeding steadily after using the bow, would not fail her.

“ _Alright. Time for a new plan,_ ” she muttered, twisting back around to crouch over the two unconscious forms beneath the blanket. “ _Prince, keep pace and stay straight. There's a cluster of thorny brambles right off the main path. I need to be able to touch it. Once we pass, speed up._ ”

He answered with a sharp cry, and thundered across the ground.

Several of them Men were closing in as they reached the brambles.

Bilbo shifted her arm out, grasped a thorn covered vine, and sent out a bellowing call through it and into the earth with the Green Lady's touch before ripping her bleeding hand free.

Then, with little care for her wounded palm, Bilbo snatched up two daggers from her belt, leaned backwards, and tossed them both at the same time.

The two closest Men fell from their horses with shouts of surprise.

Both fell into the bramble while their mounts bolted off the path.

They cursed loudly as the other Men laughed and passed them by.

The remaining five, in their focus in chasing her, hadn't seen the vines rise up to wrap around the Men, shredding skin and piercing flesh, to swallow them in a bladed casket.

“Five left. One hour to go.”

Prince snorted, sounding slightly amused by their situation, and dove forward to follow where Bilbo's clicking whistles ordered him to.

On and off the path they rode, swerving behind rock clusters, sprinting through flower bushes, and making sharp turns before sudden drops.

All the while the horses struggled to catch up as gravel suddenly jerked beneath their feet to shake their footing, vines from pretty flowers snapped at their legs to have them jumping back, and packed soil softened beneath their hooves to send them skidding into suddenly deeper trenches.

Soon, with the subtle help of Mahal and Yavanna, only three Men were left able to follow after her.

Bilbo, meanwhile, used Fíli's sword to slice any arrows that came towards them out of the air. She gasped out prayers to support Prince as she rode, pulling strength from earth and stone wherever she could, and kept a part of her focused on the distance between them and the camp.

The Men continued to chase with increasing vigor upon realizing their prey was proving hard to catch. It was with their continued persistence and growing panic that Bilbo realized the Men weren't ordinary bandits.

They had been waiting at the crossroad to catch them specifically.

The attack had been planned before, or there was a rat at the Dwarven camp who sent the bandits after them once it was revealed Fíli and herself were not with the group.

Either way, it looked like she would need to leave one alive.

At least for a little while.

_I only have two throwing knives and Fíli's sword left_ , Bilbo thought while twisting the blade in her hand to deflect yet another arrow. The Men had only been aiming at Prince, but she would not allow any to land true. _I'll need a solid plan to capture one alive._

Bilbo grit her teeth in both annoyance and pain, but shoved the latter to the back of her mind with Mahal's help.

The wildflowers along the trail whispered to her as they fled from the Men to tell her what was ahead, and how far away she was from the Dwarven Camp.

She only needed another five minutes before she'd be in close enough range to send out a signal for her people.

If Flambard was well enough to hear her, nothing would stop him from trying to reach her.

But that didn't mean he or the Dwarrow would reach them in time to be of any help if they did decide to venture out of camp at the Hobbits' instance.

If would, however, kick up such a loud fuss to earn their attention before she even reached their camp.

Hopefully, with the slightest bit of luck, a few Dwarrow would already be ready to leave to come collect the bastard by the time she arrived.

_I just need to get rid of the other two before I can send out a call._

With a fortifying breath, Bilbo whispered her plan to Prince.

His head bobbed slightly in answer, but he kept his focus on getting to the camp.

Minutes slowly passed by with the shouts of Men and stomping of hooves ringing in her ears, but Bilbo kept herself calm.

She needed to time her move perfectly.

Yavanna hummed through her veins, confirming she was now close enough to send a call through the soil to warn her kin, and Bilbo discreetly tapped Prince's side as she shifted.

It was the only warning he had before she twisted around, now fully facing the Men, and lunged off her pony's back.

All three horses reared back as the sudden furious bellow of a predator ripped from Bilbo's throat.

Bilbo let the last of the small knives she'd swiped fly.

Two Men tumbled from their horses.

Both were dead before they hit the ground.

The third, however, fell hard to the ground after being thrown from his horse.

Bilbo was advancing on him immediately, the strength of Mahal pulsing through her from the pebbles beneath her feet.

He reached for a blade in the same moment she lifted Fíli's sword above her head.

She held it like spear, balancing it from both long hours of practice with similar weapons and the guidance of the Stone Father, and threw it with all her strength.

Her aim was true.

The blade drove into the bastard's leg, shattering bone and ripping flesh, until the hilt rested against the wound.

He screamed in agony, clawing at his leg, but Bilbo knew he would not be able to remove the blade.

It was buried into the earth beneath him, nailing him in place.

Panting and swaying from both the amount of blood she'd lost with such harsh movements and the pain in her ankle, Bilbo turned to hurry to where Prince was waiting.

The Man moaned in pain between curses and insults, but Bilbo paid him no mind. He'd either be alive when the Dwarrow came to investigate, or not.

She cared little either way.

“ _Come, Prince. We must hurry. I've grown too weak to protect them any longer,_ ” Bilbo whispered even as Yavanna and Mahal did their best to fill her with warmth and energy as she walked across their shared domain.

With every step she sent out a shrill cry through the soil.

She did not doubt her kin would hear it, but it would still be several minutes before the vibrations of the earth from her location reached them.

Bilbo would be within shouting distance of the camp by the time they responded.

“Ten minutes,” she groaned, pulling herself up with shaking arms to sit atop her patient companion. “We can rest soon, my friend.”

He answered her words by trotting off.

Bilbo closed her eyes after dropping her head to rest against the back of the dark-haired Dwarf safely tucked under the blanket with his brother.

She breathed deeply through her nose in an effort to fight the growing nausea from the searing pain in her shoulder, and listened to any sounds from the stone, earth, and those that could carry on the wind.

She wasn't surprised when, after a few minutes of riding, the clamoring of upset Hobbits reached her ears.

A tired chuckle escaped her.

“Finally,” she whispered, sighing in relief. “Now, we can finally–”

Bilbo's voice trailed off as a familiar thrumming began to resonate from her Gift.

Slowly, she raised her head.

Silver eyes glinted like a steel blade as her heart beat in time to the drums of war sounding behind the open gate of her power.

The earth and stone whispered what she already knew.

Because only one thing could activate her Gift and force Mahal's power and Yavanna's wrath into her despite the danger it brought in her current state.

A Hobbit had to be in trouble, and calling out for the Green Lady's protection.

_Primula_ , Yavanna's voice rose up from the scattered wildflowers growing along the path. _Primula calls for you_.

Bilbo heard no more.

She yanked at her Gift, pulling Mahal's presence to rest between the lines of consciousness and unconsciousness, and sent Prince galloping straight into the camp with little care for the Men and Dwarrow who dove out of her way with startled shouts.

Any who tried to grab her were immediately stopped by the other irate Hobbits as Bilbo rode on, Yavanna's whispers guiding her and Mahal's strength keeping her steady.

Hobbitish ripped from her throat, howling over all other noise, demanding that those who stood in her path get out of the way.

Hobbits complied immediately.

They snatched the shirts and arms of any who stood in her path to bodily move them before Prince knocked them over.

She heard her name being called, her mind only somewhat recognizing it as Víli, but ignored it as Prince obediently dashed where she led him.

Straight towards a tent with the mark of Erebor upon in.

Right towards Primula's attackers.

-LoSF-

Thorin had known war all his life.

He was born to it, raised in it, and so the sounds of it hardly fazed him anymore.

That's why it came as such a shock to feel a shiver of awareness ghost down his spine as he chased after his brothers with Dwalin right by his side.

He called to them, but they did not answer.

“What is going on?!” Bard was suddenly among the chaos, the Thain of Hobbits at his front, and Thorin took a moment to turn his attention to him.

“Get him back to your tent,” he ordered, voice soaring high above all other noise. “It could be an attack or diversion!”

The Thain frowned, anger flashing deep in his eyes as furious bellows unlike anything Thorin had ever heard before continued to ring out clearly over the shouting, but allowed Bard to guide him to safety.

Thorin continued after his brothers.

It was as he spotted them in the crowd, both blooded soldiers tense and searching, that Thorin spotted the one making such noise.

A Hobbit woman with a head of silver hair burst through the crowd on the back of a bellowing beast seemingly born from rolling storm clouds and booming thunder.

Hobbitish snapped like a whip from her mouth, slicing through the air to cut down any in her way, and silver eyes flashed like a glinting arrow seeking a target.

It was obvious she was heavily injured, but it didn't seem to deter her in the slightest as she passed by Víli and Frerin without stopping despite their concerned shouting.

“Mahal,” Dwalin breathed in shock at his side. “Who in the bloody forges is tha'?”

Víli's bellow, calling for a guard, answered that question.

Suddenly, with painful clarity, Thorin understood why none of the company who traveled with Frerin wished to try the Hobbit woman's patience.

She was as fierce as Dís.

“Víli!” Thorin had finally managed to catch up with his brothers. “What is going on?”

“I do not know, but it won't be good.”

“Aye,” Frerin agreed. “When she gets like that, it is only for one reason.”

“Which is?” Dwalin pushed ahead, creating a wider barrier for them to follow as he roared for everyone to get out of his way. As usual, his orders were instantly obeyed.

“A Hobbit is in danger.”

Thorin frowned. “But the Hobbit tent is the other way.”

Víli suddenly paled, eyes wide in fear as he looked at Frerin.

“The Thain-Heir was left with Ori in her tent.”

“And her tent is straight ahead,” Frerin growled, cursing under his breath.

There was no more time to talk as they neared Ori's tent just in time to see the pony's tail disappear behind the curtain.

A moment later a shrill scream, that of a Man struck by pain and terror, split the air.

More screams followed, but none of them were feminine in nature.

Thorin grimaced at the sudden silence that fell just as they reached the tent.

Dwalin yanked the canvas aside, a warning falling from his mouth, only to stumble to a stop a few feet ahead.

Thorin could only stare, eyes locked on the bloodbath that had become the tent, and didn't move.

The silver-haired lass stood in the center of the carnage, breathing heavily but standing steady.

Four Men, two that had traveled in Frerin's company and two that had stayed in his camp, lay dead at her feet.

Thorin didn't see a weapon, but judging by the crushed in skull of the closest Man and the bloodied hands of the Hobbit, he felt the woman didn't need one.

“Guard,” Víli said softly in a manner that Thorin had only heard him use with his sons. “What's happened?”

“They were attacking my cousin,” she answered after a long moment. Thorin flinched at the fury in her tone. Still, it was little more than mild agitation when compared to the inferno blazing in her silver eyes when she looked over her bleeding shoulder. “Now, they aren't.”

Thorin frowned even as Dwalin snorted in amusement.

He glanced at the blade sticking from her shoulder, recognizing it instantly as one of Fíli's smaller throwing knives, and grimaced in realizing he hadn't seen his nephew with the woman.

A gasp stopped him from voicing his concern immediately.

Behind the huffing beast, a slightly dazed Ori staggered to her feet, blood dripping slowly from a wound at her temple, with a Hobbit lass tucked protectively into her side.

She seemed unharmed, but was trembling heavily as tears welled in her eyes.

She bolted forward the moment the other Hobbit's arm shifted in a beckoning gesture.

Babbled, barely coherent Hobbitish fell from the woman's lips.

The silver-haired lass hummed soothingly all the while, easily holding the woman up despite her injuries and obvious exhaustion.

“All is well, cousin. Do not cry. I am here.”

“Guard,” Víli whispered, voice nearly choking with emotion as the beast carefully sat itself down in front of his master. “The Dwarf you went after?”

“He needs a Healer.” She swayed as she leaned forward, bloodied hand grasping a familiar looking blanket, and yanked the fabric away. Thorin's heart stuttered at the sight of his nephews thrown over the back of the pony. Only the steady rise of their backs as they breathed evenly kept him from staggering forward. “Both are unconscious, but breathing fine for now. Call for a Healer before that changes.”

“Kíli!” Ori was beside her One the moment he was revealed to her.

Frerin bellowed the order for Healers before Thorin could even bring air back to his lungs. Víli was beside his sons, running gentle hands over their slumbering forms, and let out a harsh exhale at their condition.

“You brought them back,” he whispered hoarsely. “You brought them both back.”

“Aye. They needed to get home.”

She swayed dangerously to the left. The woman at her side let out a panicked noise, but Dwalin was on the silver-hared Hobbit before she could hit the ground.

He caught her gently, frowning fiercely as he looked her over, and slowly turned suspicious eyes at Frerin.

His brother flinched.

“Hmm. You look like a guard,” she muttered, blinking wide eyes up at Dwalin's hard expression. Thorin, who moved forward to let the Healers in, frowned in confusion. Dwalin looked as though he had been gutted as he looked down at the girl.

“I am,” he answered softly, surprising Thorin at the rare display of gentleness.

“Good. I left one Man, a hired bandit, alive about ten minutes from here on the main path. If he's not there, he did not leave of his own strength.”

Dwalin's expression flashed with fury, but he hid it quickly while slowly lowering himself to the ground to get the girl off her feet.

“Send out a party,” he ordered Frerin harshly, tone dark in a way that set Thorin's teeth on edge.

Surprisingly, his brother bolted from the tent to do as asked without making any snide remark at their cousin's tone.

Thorin would have demanded to know what in the blazing forges had gotten into Dwalin, but then the bulk of the Dwarf shifted just enough so that the Hobbit woman's face was in clear view.

Thorin sucked in a breath, chest tightening as if he'd taken a war hammer to it, and stumbled forward.

The hair and eyes were the wrong color, the skin a bit too pale, but he knew the face before his eyes.

Knew it just as Dwalin did.

Thorin had argued with that reckless Hobbit woman enough times to easily conjure up her face from thousands upon thousands of memories.

And the Hobbit bleeding in his Blessed Bond's arms shared her face.

The hair and eye color, however, were not from a Hobbit.

They were from a Dwarf clan.

A single Dwarf clan.

The Line of Ri.

“Who are you?” Thorin demanded, voice coming out harsh despite his efforts to gentle his tone.

The lass blinked her eyes a moment to focus on him.

Then, much to his surprise, she sent an unimpressed look brimming with disgust at him.

“You have the look of that temperamental bastard of a company leader I've been unfortunate enough to be forced into traveling with,” she said, a single brow ticking higher as a challenging smirk curved her lips. “Sound just as pompous, too.”

Thorin scowled even as Dwalin guffawed.

With that waspish attitude and face, she was no doubt related to Belladonna.

But the hair...

There was no mistaking that mithril shine.

“Your name, Hobbit.”

She made a sound of agitation, but did not answer.

Instead, she spoke gentle Hobbitish to the woman sitting at her side.

Whatever was said, the other lass didn't look pleased. She shook her head quickly, but the injured one repeated the flowing words once more.

Finally, with a look of defeat, the Hobbit woman nodded.

“Do not make me ask again,” Thorin growled when silver eyes landed back on him.

“I cannot _make_ you do anything, Dwarf,” she replied just as fiercely, tone harsh as a winter storm. “If I had such a fine ability, I would use it to make you hold your tongue while in my presence. Perhaps, if I am filling courteous, I will extend it so that others are not burdened with you.”

“I have no time for your games, Half–”

“Finish that word, Gramps, and you'll be in need of new hairstyle,” she hissed, eyes narrowing into slits.

Thorin spluttered at such disrespect. “ _Gramps_?! You will listen to me, inso–”

“I have no such desire to hear either word or breath fall from your lips this day, Dwarf,” she snapped, barring her teeth like a predator ready to lunge. “Now, I have much to discuss with my kin. If you,” she paused to wave one bleeding hand at Dwalin, “would do me such a courtesy, I'd request your help getting to my kin's tent. I am in need of their care.”

Víli looked over, pale face stricken as his eyes jumped between her injuries. “We have Men, Elves, and Dwarrow capable of healing, lass. Let us care for you.”

Both Hobbit women scowled. The fierce looking guard held up a hand, shaking it so that a broken chain from heavy shackles clinked for all to hear, and dropped it back down.

“As you can see, I have not forgotten just how your company _cares_ for those who are not Dwarrow,” she quipped, eyes blinking rapidly as if she were fighting to stay conscious.

Dwalin leveled a furious look at Víli as he spoke. “Aye. I'll carry ye. Ye 'ave Healers?”

“That I do, Master Guard.” Her head rolled to the side as Dwalin gathered her up. “Cousin, stay between us and Prince. I'll have Flambard take care of him while I'm being looked over.”

“Ah! But–” Ori trailed off with an uncertain expression when the lass glanced to her. She swallowed, suddenly looking afraid, and bowed her head. “I wish to see you when you are well.”

The woman looked confused by the admission, but carefully inclined her head. “You may.”

“Wait,” Thorin ordered when the small group began moving towards the tent. Dwalin paused, but only because the lass in his arms gripped his shoulder to haul herself up enough so that her glinting gaze could cut Thorin down where he stood.

“No.” Never before had Thorin heard a word spoken in Common sound so much like an animal's snarl in all his life. “I have done enough waiting, Dwarf. I am mentally and physically drained, exhausted to the point of collapse, and bleeding heavily from wounds earned in the protection of _your_ Dwarrow. Now, I am going to my kin to recover. I am going so that I may assure myself that you have been more successful with keeping my kin safe in comparison to the stone-dense fool you sent after us. And _you_ , you insufferable oaf, are going to stay far from my presence until I decide your thick skull is not worth the effort it would take to crack!”

Thorin, much to his own annoyance, reared back in the face of her fury like a startled lad rather than a grown Dwarf nearing his two-hundredth year.

The Hobbit, unfortunately, was far too much like Dís.

“I see why you're fond of her,” he muttered, sending a glare at Víli. The worn looking father sat as close to his sons as possible without getting in the way of the Healers. Both Princes of Erebor were now on canvas stretchers to be transported to the Healing Tent, but were being thoroughly checked before being carried out.

“Aye? Remind you of someone, does she?”

Thorin shook his head in annoyance, but said nothing else.

He waited in front of Ori, softly giving orders to the Guards who came to carry the stretchers, and motioned for the Dam to follow once they were out.

She did so even more quietly than usual, a worried pinch between her brow.

“Kíli will be fine,” he assured, guessing she was concerned for her One.

“Ah. Yes. The Healers said he would recover quickly.” She looked down, twisting her fingers in front of her, and frowned even more deeply.

“If you are worried about giving a report, do not concern yourself. You only need to tell us what happened.”

“Yes. I know. I usually am the one to write them for Master Dwalin.”

Thorin sighed at the mumbled answer. “Ori, speak plainly. What is the matter?”

The Dam went silent, but Thorin knew her better than to think she would not answer him. Ori took her time in all things, never rushing, until she was certain all the words were right.

“The Hobbit woman? The injured one.”

“Aye. I am told she is the Hobbit's strongest guard.”

Ori's lips quirked at that. “I would believe such a claim after what I witnessed in the tent.” The half-formed smile turned to pull downward in a worried frown. “She is very strong.”

“Did she frighten you?”

Thorin wouldn't be surprised if she had scared the Dam.

Though all were trained in combat and considered battle ready by thirty, as is the way of Dwarrow, neither Ori or his nephews had been subjected to true combat.

There was no need for them to fight the way he and Frerin had.

The times were peaceful.

Orcs and Goblins stayed far from Erebor.

Bloodshed and violence of the kind the Hobbit easily managed was not something any of the three had ever been subjected to.

There would be nothing shameful in fearing one capable of killing a Man with their fists alone.

But Ori was shaking her head, making Thorin wrong once again.

“No, but she startled me.” Ori looked up, eyes wide and shining with confusion. “I had not expected to see a Hobbit looking so similar to my brothers.”

Thorin flinched.

Ori, catching the movement, narrowed her eyes.

“My King, why does the Hobbit have Dori's coloring? Who is she? Dwalin seemed to recognize her, and so did you. Is she...well, you know.” The last was whispered with traces of hope and fear.

Thorin grimaced, shaking his head with a tired sigh.

“I do not know for certain,” he answered honestly, frowning as he caught sight of Dwalin moving like a thundercloud through camp. Thorin didn't doubt he was looking for Frerin. “But we will be finding out soon. Come. Let us get your wound looked at before Nori returns.”

Ori huffed a laugh. “I believe my brother to be very skilled with sneaking about, but I do not think him or anyone else capable of sneaking up on a Wizard.”

“Aye. Well, I'd be more worried about that damned bear he is keeping away from our camp catching me than the Wizard.”

Ori could only nod in agreement.

They both flinched as one when the sudden angry roars of Dís reached their ears.

Her voice was coming from the healing tent the two were headed to.

They shared a look.

It seemed Dís was aware of the injuries her sons sustained.

Thorin hoped the Hobbit lass was treated quickly, because Thorin had no doubt Dís would be storming over to her tent the moment she finished checking on her sons.

After all, the female guard was the only one who could tell his sister who she needed to kill.

If they were lucky, Dís wouldn't realize who the girl resembled.

If she did, well, negotiating with the Thain would be the least of his worries.

Preparing a royal burial service, however, would be at the top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for next Chapter:
> 
> Bilbo breathed deeply, fighting off the dark spots dancing in her vision, and leaned heavily against Flambard's chest as she watched the tearful reunion between Primula and Drogo.
> 
> She listened intently as Holman Greenhand whispered everything that happened since the Hobbits were taken while Bell Goodchild and May Gamgee gently used their Gifts to help her recover quickly.
> 
> Though Bell was only fifteen, her Gift of Bloom, one of the strongest healing abilities a Hobbit could be born with, was stronger than even the most trained of Hobbits.
> 
> May, though only thirteen, was nearly at the same level.
> 
> Together, with their desire and determination to help bolstering their Gift's proficiency, Bilbo's energy reserves were steadily being restored.
> 
> That did not, however, appease Flambard.
> 
> “I'll kill that Dwarf,” he grumbled, nuzzling her curls despite the sweat dampening the tangled mess. “Bastard did a horrible job of having your back.”
> 
> “Hush, Flam. Holman is trying to speak,” she chided gently, but allowed her head to fall back to bump against his shoulder in a relaxed gesture of trust and affection. He tightened his arms around her shoulders in response.
> 
> “As I was saying,” he groused, setting a disapproving look on Flambard. “We were snatched up about five months ago. The Dwarrow came out of nowhere with Men. They marched us this way, all of us chained besides the Thain and babes, and released us once we got here. Of course, that didn't mean they'd let us go.”
> 
> Bilbo nodded in understanding. She noticed the Hobbits from her caravan no longer were shackled. It was odd that they'd been released, but it made Bilbo question why they'd even been chained to start with.
> 
> “And no one was hurt?”
> 
> “Not a one of us. A Boffin lass tripped on account of the ground still being muddy from the spring floods, but that brute of a Dwarf who carried you here swept her up and took her to where the Thain was in a wagon. She rode with him for the rest of the day.”
> 
> Flambard tensed at the reminder of Bilbo being brought in by Master Guard.
> 
> It was a good thing Primula was with them, because Bilbo had barely been conscious by the time he lumbered into the tent with her.
> 
> The Hobbits, according to sweet May, had all jumped to their feet thinking the Dwarrow had hurt her.
> 
> Prim had stepped in front of the startled Dwarf, blocking Flambard from attacking him, and hurriedly explained what was going on.
> 
> Bilbo remembered none of it.
> 
> She only vaguely recalled being deposited into her cousin's capable arms, but there was one thing that stood out.
> 
> The hardened Dwarf warrior had knelt in front of her, gently bumped his head against her own in a Dwarven sign of affection, and whispered a prayer for healing to Mahal over her before leaving.
> 
> She clearly remembered gray eyes in front of her own silver ones when she blinked into awareness at the touch.
> 
> They'd been far too tender for someone who didn't know who she was.
> 
> Bilbo's gut twisted with anxiety at the implications.


	16. SIXTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope everyone is doing well! Warm wishes to you all!

-LoSF-

Bilbo breathed deeply, fighting off the dark spots dancing in her vision, and leaned heavily against Flambard as she watched the tearful reunion between Primula and Drogo.

She listened intently as Holman Greenhand whispered everything that happened since the Hobbits were taken while Bell Goodchild and May Gamgee gently used their Gifts to help her recover quickly.

Though Bell was only sixteen, four years too young to be considered an adult, her Gift of Bloom, one of the strongest healing abilities a Hobbit could be born with, was stronger than even the most trained of Hobbits.

May, though only thirteen, was also at an advanced level and Bell's apprentice.

Together, with their desire and determination to help bolstering their Gift's proficiency, Bilbo's energy reserves were slowly being restored.

That did not, however, appease Flambard.

“I'll kill that Dwarf,” he grumbled nuzzling her curls despite the sweat dampening the tangled mess. “Bastard did a horrible job of having your back.”

“Hush, Flam. Holman is trying to speak,” she chided gently, but allowed her head to fall back to bump against his chest in a relaxed gesture of trust and affection. He tightened his arms around her shoulders in response.

“As I was saying,” he groused, setting a disapproving look on Flambard. “We were snatched up about five months ago. The Dwarrow came out of nowhere with Men. They marched us this way, all of us chained besides the Thain and babes, and released us once we got here to be checked over by Elven Healers. Of course, that didn't mean they'd let us go.”

Bilbo nodded in understanding. She noticed the Hobbits from her caravan no longer were shackled. It was odd that they'd been released, but it made Bilbo question why they'd even been chained to start with.

“And no one was hurt?”

“Not a one of us. A Boffin lass tripped on account of the ground still being muddy from the spring floods, but that brute of a Dwarf who carried you here swept her up and took her to where the Thain was in a wagon. She rode with him for the rest of the day.”

Flambard tensed at the reminder of Bilbo being brought in by the Dwarf Guard.

It was a good thing Primula was with them, because Bilbo had barely been conscious by the time he lumbered into the tent with her.

The Hobbits, according to sweet May, had all jumped to their feet thinking the Dwarrow had hurt her.

Prim had stepped in front of the startled Dwarf, blocking Flambard from attacking him, and hurriedly explained what was going on.

Bilbo remembered none of it.

She only vaguely recalled being deposited into her cousin's capable arms, but there was one thing that stood out.

The hardened Dwarf warrior had knelt in front of her, gently bumped his head against her own in a Dwarven sign of affection, and whispered a prayer for healing to Mahal over her before leaving.

She clearly remembered gray eyes in front of her own silver ones when she blinked into awareness at the touch.

They'd been far too tender for someone who didn't know who she was.

Bilbo's gut twisted with anxiety at the implications.

“That is good,” she said at last. “No trouble from the Men?”

“None like you've 'ad, Lady Baggins,” Hamfast said quietly as he approached. He dropped to her side, a bowl brimming with a thick broth in hand, and carefully handed it over to Flambard.

“Drink,” he ordered, holding the bowl steadily against her lips.

“I'm well enough to feed myself, cousin.” She sent him a soft glare, but allowed him to help.

“That you are, but I'd much rather you keep your arm still,” Bell murmured, softly glowing hands pressed into the healing herbs packed against her stab wound. Bilbo didn't doubt that her fingers were numb from all the work she'd done so far, but the girl worked without complaint, ignoring all personal aches in her mission to heal the wounded.

Bilbo couldn't be more proud of the young woman the lass was growing into.

“She's right,” May agreed, smirking at Hamfast who shyly watched Bell with an expression of wonder. It was hardly a surprise to see sweet Bell peaking at him in the same manner, a gentle smile softening her features. “As my future sister-in-law usually is.”

Bilbo nearly choked on laughter as the two young Hobbits blushed hotly, swiftly looking away from one another. Flambard's chest rumbled with silent laughter at her back, but the bowl never so much as twitched in his hands.

“Not for another five years,” Holmon groused, eyes sliding between the two suspiciously. “I'll not be having any more great-nieces or nephews running around for a good long while if I can help it.”

Hobbits nearby snickered at Hamfast's quick denial of ever doing something so improper to Bell. Bilbo shook her head as May joined in to tease her brother.

She had more questions, but they could wait.

The Hobbits, most importantly the young ones, deserved every happy memory they could grasp.

Especially with the future so uncertain.

“ _Lady Baggins! That Dwarf Princess is coming this way. Should we let her in?_ ” Asphodel Brandybuck, who was looking anxiously at the canvas entrance, shifted from foot to foot in worry.

“ _I do not think we could stop her if we tried,_ ” grumbled Lobelia Bracegirdle from the other side of the entrance.

“Let her in,” Bilbo called after a nod to the lasses healing her. They both withdrew most of their Gift, the glow fading away as they did so, and scowled at not being able to continue working with the full strength of their ability at the ready. “ _Prim, you will need to step away from Drogo in case she is here to speak with you._ ”

Primula, brave and fiery as ever, nodded with her head held high before stepping directly in front of where Bilbo sat. Her arms were crossed, foot tapping impatiently beneath her, by the time the Dam appeared.

Bilbo, who had to push further into a grumbling Flambard to do so, leaned back enough to see around Prim's skirts to look at the woman.

She was a Dam of fierce beauty and presence. She looked remarkably like the oaf who came running in the tent with the Dwarf Guard earlier, but her presence was much cooler compared to the scorching temperament of the Dwarf.

Dressed in travel garb of high quality, jewels decorating cloth and hair to state her status, the Dam couldn't be mistaken as anyone but the Ereborian Princess.

Lady Dís.

“ _She is the mother of Fíli and wife of Víli_ ,” Bilbo introduced before Primula could lash into the woman. Because no matter how frightening the heavily armed and scowling Dam may look to many, Primula was just as fierce and bold in nature. She'd give her best to strike the Dam down if she thought she was there to do them harm. “ _She was well liked by my father, and a trusted friend of my mother._ ”

Primula nodded as the Dam, having stopped at hearing the sound of her son's name mixed in with Hobbitish, leaned ever so slightly to the side to look directly at Bilbo.

Blue eyes widened in surprise, but then narrowed in determination.

Bilbo didn't doubt for a moment Dís had appeared to speak directly with her.

She couldn't even blame the mother for seeking out answers.

Though she had sent Flambard to deliver a message about an Orc causing most of Fíli's injuries after her cousin hurriedly took Prince to rest with the other Hobbit ponies, a parent would always seek more information when their child was harmed.

And the main source would always be sought over a messenger's words.

“Welcome, Majesty,” Prim greeted, voice only a touch antagonistic where it would have come out like a declaration of war a moment before. “What business does one such as yourself have in this particular tent?”

Bilbo snorted at her cousin's cheek, raising a brow at the Dam when she only continued to stare her way.

It was enough to shake her from whatever thoughts were running behind calculating blue eyes.

“I have come to speak with the one who has brought my sons back to me,” she announced, stepping through the startled Hobbits with attention on no one but Bilbo.

Flambard, tense and coiled in anger at her back, tightened his grip around her shoulders.

She huffed, rolling her eyes when the Dam sent a pensive look brimming with distrust at her second-in-command, and dipped her chin in Primula's direction.

“Very well. As long as she allows it, you may speak to my guard. She is responsible for saving the lives of your sons.”

With one last hostile look, Primula moved silently into the crowd.

Hobbits shifted, stepping seamlessly into a layered walls of bodies to keep Prim out of sight.

One would think it was because of the status she claimed in Bilbo's place, but truly it was because of the life she carried.

They would keep the Dwarrow away from her as long as they could if only to lessen the stress the poor woman was under.

“My apologies for coming while you are in such a state,” Dís apologized, sounding genuine and concerned. “I do not mean to offer you offense.”

Bilbo blinked in confusion, glancing down at her mostly covered form, and then back to Flambard.

He, however, seemed just as confused by the Dam's words.

“You've offered me no offense,” Bilbo said, voice lightly touched by the uncertainty she felt.

This time it was the Dam who looked confused.

“I had thought seeing a Hobbit in any state of undress was a grave slight against their propriety.”

“Ah.” Flambard's lips twitched against her curls. “She is referring to the old ways.”

“Oh.” Bilbo nodded, face softening in amusement. “We do not care overly much if strangers see our skin. Especially not when one is exposed for the purpose of being treated.” She dipped her head to the wound at her shoulder being gently tended to. “I have taken no offense. Now, what is it that you need?”

Dís frowned in thought. Her eyes dropped to Fíli's coat spread out like a blanket from navel to toe, but rose a moment later to the arms wrapped around her shoulder's.

Her frown deepened.

Bilbo's confusion grew.

Behind her, shaking with a sudden huff of laughter, Flambard snorted while saying, “She probably wishes to know what trouble her son got into, _cousin_. Having me tell their Healers he was hit with Orc claw and blade doesn't provide much of a backstory.”

“Ah. I take it you are the second-in-command, then?” Dís seemed to relax at knowing this. “My husband has mentioned you being very loyal to your cousin. He has compared you both to our sons.”

“Aye. Kin helps kin,” he replied, shifting back when Bell whispered quietly to him. “Excuse me, cousin.”

Before Bilbo could think to answer, Flambard shifted away while easing her back with careful movements to gently place her head on her pack.

“Keep to your side,” Holmon instructed, reaching out to pull Fíli's coat up the length of her body so that the fur lining rested under her chin. “Girls are going to clean the rest of the blood away before they repack the wound. I'll go fetch your new clothes from Amaranth.”

Bilbo carefully nodded, adjusted her position only slightly after he left, and looked back up at the Dam.

Dís wasn't looking at her, however.

Her eyes were on the rip in the coat and the blood that surrounded it.

“Flam, give her his knife back.”

He did so immediately, being careful to make sure the blade was never once pointed towards the Dam, and shuffled a few paces away when he was done.

“Hamfast, come with me. The girls will be needing to eat when they're finished here.”

The two were gone a moment later, leaving Bilbo and the girls alone with the Dam.

“I know it's considered forward to use the weapons of a Dwarf without permission, but I hope in this case you do not mind,” Bilbo said mildly when it became obvious Dís was not going to start the conversation.

“Ah. Yes. This is one such time where no one will take offense,” the Dam assured. She tucked the knife into her belt, right next to a rather beautifully crafted ax, and smiled kindly. “I am sorry a weapon meant to protect you only hindered you.”

“It helped me buy time at the start, so it served me very well.”

“I see.” Dís looked to Bilbo in a way that made her wish to hide under Fíli's coat. It was a look brimming with keen intelligence. There was recognition in her gaze, as well. It set Bilbo off in the same way the Dwarf Guard's unearned fondness for her did. “I would like to hear what happened.”

“Starting from when?”

“The fall,” she answered. “If you are willing.”

And so Bilbo began.

She edited the fall and landing in the lake to not involve her Gift, but something told Bilbo that Dís knew a little bit about the magic Hobbits could possess. If she thought Bilbo simply had a Gift to soften their landing to avoid serious injury, she wasn't about to correct her otherwise.

As she continued to tell of their journey together, Bilbo couldn't help but notice the similarities between the woman and herself.

It was an odd thing to realize, but her father had told her once that Durin blood was one of the strongest of the lines a Dwarf, or Dwobbit, could inherit from.

Though they shared no similar physical features, with Bilbo having inherited her frame from her mother and coloring from the Ri Clan, that drop of Durin blood held strong in her peronality.

It was easy to see it reflected in Dís.

It made her wonder if her own mother, who died long before Bilbo was able to hear even a quarter of the stories that created the life of Belladonna Took, would like the woman she was becoming.

She had spoken fondly of Dís.

And, being one of only three Dwarrow her mother willingly spoke to her about, Bilbo knew the connection between the women had been more towards sisterhood than friendship.

Just as one Dwarf became a lover rather than a mere companion.

While the other quickly turned into a second father rather than simply a mentor.

And though her mother refused to ever say their names, Bungo revealed them once her mother had passed.

And, once she was old enough to understand, he revealed the one her mother never spoke of.

The Blessed Bond who refused to believe her.

Frerin.

The Elder Prince of Erebor.

Sister to Dís.

Uncle to Fíli.

Bilbo couldn't help but wonder if Fate thought herself funny.

Because truly only a joke could have delivered such a punchline.

One of the two Dwarrow who Bilbo truly hated was the bloody uncle to her–

“Azog! That filth touched my son,” Dís shouted, startling Bilbo from her wandering thoughts and the distracted Hobbits around them. May, frightened by the sudden yell, pressed too hard onto Bilbo's wounded ankle, making the Dwobbit hiss quietly in pain. “Ah. I'm sorry for my outburst.”

“It's alright,” Bilbo murmured, lifting her arm despite Bell's protests to gently ruffle May's curls, sending a reassuring smile to the apologetic lass. “Azog? That is the pale bastard's name?”

“My Lady!” Bell smacked lightly at Bilbo's elbow for the language while May giggled into her hand. “There are children present.”

“Aye,” she rolled her eyes, grin twisting into something decidedly Tookish. “And hopefully none I am unaware of.”

Bell spluttered, huffing and puffing in indignation despite the merry twinkle in her eyes, before declaring her work finished for the moment and hauling a laughing May off to where Flambard and a blushing Hamfast waited.

Shaking her head, Bilbo turned, grin still in place, to look up at Dís. She blinked at the sudden look of certainty in bright blue eyes.

The Dam continued speaking before Bilbo could ask on it.

“As my son said, Azog wishes to end our line. We've clashed with him for many decades. It began when my cousin, Dain of the Iron Hills, took the eye of his son. My brother, Thorin, took Azog's arm in the same battle. It had been an ambush. Bilri, one the famous Ri Sisters Three, was killed before they even arrived, but my kin avenged her.”

Dís was watching Bilbo carefully as she spoke, but she hadn't been in charge of the negotiations with Elves and Men for the last twenty years for nothing.

If there was one thing she could do, it was keep her true thoughts and feelings off her face.

Even if inside she was frozen in fear at the sudden realization that Dís somehow knew just who she was.

Who her _mother_ and _sire_ were.

“So,” Bilbo began, voice even and appropriately curious despite the sudden spike of worry, “he seeks vengeance for the wounds they received?”

“Aye,” she nodded, brow furrowed in curiosity.

“I see. That explain why your son had been so focused on killing him. He had spoke highly of his Stone Sense, but it seems to have not served him well.”

Dís sighed, shaking her head. “I blame myself for that. Both my boys have a unique Stone Sense that requires practice in being able to properly interpret what the stone is trying to reveal. The lands around Erebor very rarely have Goblins or Orcs upon them. Since I refused to allow my sons to travel until they reached forty, and only with a small army and their entire personal guard until they reach seventy, Fíli has had next to no experience with feeling the stone for Orcs and Goblins.”

Bilbo blinked in surprise saying, “That makes sense.” She nodded, fingers twitching where they dug into the coat as she realized just how easily the young Durin brothers could have been lost.

_They do not know of violence or Goblin Wars_ , she realized in dismay. One could not sense evil in stone if they weren't accustomed to it. It was no wonder Fíli had moved without caution. _He must have thought the Orcs were dead. And his brother..._

“And his brother is the same? It would explain why he didn't sense the bandits.”

“He is. If you would, I'd like to hear what happened after Azog caught my son.”

And so Bilbo continued on.

She winced in sympathy at seeing the Dam's distress at hearing how her son was injured.

She'd reached out without thinking, her heart wishing only to comfort those in pain, and wrapped her bandaged hand around Dis' own.

Bilbo, though surprised, did not comment when Dis covered it with her other one and did not let go.

She explained the healing she did on Fíli as a Hobbit trick with medicinal plants learned from Elves. And though Dís did not comment, Bilbo suspected the sudden warm understanding in her eyes confirmed what Bilbo knew all along.

Dís knew a lot more than she was saying about the natural abilities all Hobbits had for healing and surviving, as well as the Gifts they were born with.

Bilbo only wondered how much.

And why she had such knowledge.

“And then you arrived here to kill four more Men.” Dís shook her head in amazement once Bilbo finished the story of her journey. “I am sorry for the trouble my sons have caused you. My caution in keeping them in the mountain until Azog has been dealt with has, as Frerin told me would happen, hindered them outside it.”

Bilbo felt a slight twitch to her otherwise controlled expression when the bastard was so casually mentioned.

By the narrowing of blue eyes, Bilbo didn't believe for a moment Dís missed it.

“It's alright. Both are alive. I'm sure it will provide a good learning experience in the future. Though, I do wish to speak to your youngest. I'm curious about what his Stone Sense is like.”

“I”m sure he'll be happy to tell you,” she assured with a grin. “That's after his intended is finished dragging him through forge fire for scaring her.”

Bilbo laughed at that. “She must be formidable.”

“Aye. She is. She was the Dam in the tent where you killed the Men.”

“Ah.” Bilbo knew immediately who she was talking about. It was odd, but she'd felt almost as determined to protect her the moment their eyes met as she was Primula. Something in her, buried deep down within her soul, sparked as if struck at seeing the small Dam using her body to shield Prim from harm. She felt it keenly due to her hold on Mahal's presence, but she wasn't sure what it was. “Yes, she was protecting my kin. She's asked to speak with me later.”

“I'm sure you'll have a chance soon enough.” Dís looked curious about something, but seemed to stop herself from asking. “I thank you for telling me what all has happened. Our Healers, as well as the Elven Healers, have assured me Kíli will wake within the hour. Fíli, since the poison is fully removed from his body, should wake soon after now that his wounds are properly treated.”

Bilbo nodded, body releasing a tension she hadn't known was there, while her fingers curled tightly in the fur lining Fíli's coat. “I thank you for telling me.”

The Dam smiled softly, reaching out to gently lay her hand atop silver curls, and very carefully ran a thumb over Bilbo's brow.

“And I thank you for bringing them back to me.” Dís leaned away, folding her hands in her lap as Bilbo pulled her own hand back to rest against the coat.

“Of course.”

“I will let my boys both know you are well when they wake. Until then, I have a few things I must see to. Thank you for your time.”

Bilbo nodded, body oddly relaxed after being around Dís and hearing her speak, and sighed tiredly. When she blinked, her eyes stayed shut.

A chuckle had one pointed ear twitching.

“ **Sleep, Stone-petal. May the Queen of the Earth enrich your dreams, and the King of the Stone guard your sleep.** ”

Bilbo's lips curved softly at hearing the nickname she hadn't heard since her mother's passing.

Part of her wondered why Dís knew her mother's nightly prayer for her, but a bigger part was already curling into the Green Lady's motherly embrace, welcoming sleep as the Stone Father's voice lifted in song to silence all thoughts and worries.

She was asleep before a forehead gently pressed against her own, and a single tear dampened her cheek.

In the golden fields of her dreams, Bilbo danced through a sudden burst or warm rain.

-LoSF-

The smell of mint and honey was the first thing to register through the clinging fog of sleep.

Ori blinked tiredly, head rolling towards the delightful scent, and smiled at the tray placed beside her pallet of furs.

She wasn't surprised to see Nori sitting there.

The concerned frown, however, shocked her into motion.

“What's wrong,” she demanded, quickly sitting before she could remember her head wound. She flinched, pressing her hand into her face in an attempt to soothe the throbbing, then blinked at how damp her cheeks felt.

“You were cryin' in yer sleep,” Nori said gently. “I'd 'ave woken ye, bu' ye were smilin'. Reckoned it was a happy dream.”

Ori smiled softly. The memory of a golden field and warm rain filled her mind, but it was the lass dancing among the flowers, ones made of precious stone, that brought a sense of peace and connection to her.

“Yes. It was a very good dream.”

_Even if it wasn't my own_ , Ori thought, trying to keep her thoughts from her expression.

Nori, however, wasn't one to be fooled.

“So, tha' is it, then? The Guard is yer Blessed Bond?”

Ori flinched. Though she tried to say something, no words would form. She would never deny the pull she felt the moment silver eyes aflame with rage landed on her.

She heard the call of her Bonded.

“Well, at least I know ye will be safe. 'course, gonna 'ave to explain how Bonds work to 'er.”

“I know,” Ori nodded, reaching for the tea still steaming beside her. “Where is Dori? This smells too good to have been made by you.”

Though he grumbled at the slight, they both knew it to be true. “Dís fetched him a bit ago. Thorin needed 'em to go over yer report.” He fell silent, staring at the bandages plastered to her temple. “I should 'ave been 'ere.”

“No one could 'ave known someone would try something during the guard change immediately after the Thain-Heir arrived.”

“Yer Bonded did,” he pointed out, making Ori smile at his easy acceptance of what she had yet to officially claim. That would have to wait until the young woman agreed and embraced the Bond. “She knew ye were in trouble when no one else was botherin' to look.”

“She did,” Ori agreed quietly. “Had she not came when she did, I do not think I could have protected the Hobbit Thain-Heir.”

They fell silent, neither commenting on what was unsaid within that statement. Because, really, Ori would have to be dead before she allowed any harm to come to one under her protection.

The Line of Ri, after all, always looked after their own.

And they guarded those in their care with the vicious strength their line was famous for.

“Ori, wha' happened? Ye may not be trained as much as soldiers, but I do not believe they overpowered ye so easily.”

Sighing, Ori sat the cup down. She accepted a small sweet as she thought, her mind trying to focus on the memory without being distracted by her Bonded.

“The Thain-Heir was emotional when she was brought to me. I dismissed the Dams assigned to me while Dori was with Princess Dís to try and make her more comfortable. She settled after awhile, but she was very hesitant to speak with me. I tried to ask her about her travels, but even that was avoided. I had just about given up when he commotion started.”

Ori sighed, head bowing to look down at the intricate pattern on the blanket decorating her lap, while her mind echoed with the terrified scream of a too young Hobbit in a too violent world.

“They attacked immediately. I would have gone for my hammer, but I noticed the Thain-Heir suddenly shifted positions. She curled inwards and locked her arms tightly in front of her stomach. One hand stayed protectively over a single spot.”

Nori swore.

“Aye. I realized it just as the four Men entered the tent. They went for her first, so I changed directions immediately. Regardless of what tricks the Thain may have played with the contract, it did not change the fact that a defenseless woman and her unborn child were in danger."

“I reached her in time, but received a blow from a steel headed sledgehammer. It stunned me. The Men were advancing before I could even get my feet back under me,” Ori spat, curling her fingers to keep them from shaking. “The Thain-Heir was crying and trying to drag me away. She kept yelling in Hobbitish for someone. The Men were almost on us when a pony stormed through the tent. That's when I saw his rider.”

Ori shivered, mind easily recalling the vengeful form of her Bonded on the back of a bellowing creature seemingly more wild than tamed.

The Hobbit was _raw_ in her strength, and beautiful in her every motion. There was an elegance and a confidence about the woman Ori had always wanted for herself.

“The Guard lunged from her pony the a moment before the Men turned. She punched right through the wooden handle of the hammer, and crushed the Man's skull with the force of her hit.” Ori shivered at the memory of the gruesome sound.

“She snatched the two halves of the weapon before he even fell. The wooden handle went through the heart of one. The third Man died by her swinging the part she held. It had been so strong the steel head lodged into his skull and broke off from the small piece of wood she still held.

“The final Man received the last of the weapon from a frightfully accurate and powerful throw. That small piece of wood embedded four inches into his skull from a single throw.”

Ori paused, eyes wide in amazement as they looked to Nori.

“They were all dead before the first even hit the ground,” she explained. “How can I be Bonded to someone like that? She's _amazing_. I'll have every warrior in Erebor hounding me about her!”

Nori laughed at her miserable expression. “No frettin', sister. They will 'ave to get through Fíli if they want 'er hand.”

“What? Fíli? What does he have to do with her,” she asked in confusion. She knew the Guard saved his life and brought both brothers back alive, but that was all she thought was to their relationship.

“He's 'er One,” he answered with a shrug, grinning when Ori knocked over her cup in shock.

“My Bonded is going to be the _Queen_ one day?!” She suddenly felt like she may faint again.

“Now, calm down. Works well. Ye are Bonded to 'er, and ye both are the Ones of Durin Princes.”

Ori blinked, suddenly slumping as she pulled worried at her braid. “About Durin Princes...”

“Aye?”

“Prince Frerin seems to be in trouble. And it all has to do with the guard.” Ori fixed her brother with a sharp look. “Woudl you happen to know why?”

He sighed. “Based on how ye are lookin' at me, I'd say ye already 'ave a guess.”

Ori fell silent.

Tears filled her eyes as she nodded.

“She looks like Bella.”

“Aye,” Nori agreed softly. “She does.”

“And her coloring is like Dori's.”

“Exact shade.”

Her tears began to fall.

“This will break his heart.”

A pause.

“Aye. It will.”

-LoSF-

“Brother! You must stop!”

Balin's voice was the only clear sound Dwalin could hear.

All else had long since fell away as he sought out the soon to be headless prince.

Frerin, however, was not making it easy to find him.

The bastard hid himself somewhere in the camp, and no one could recall seeing him.

The coward.

“Brother,” Balin huffed, reaching out to firmly grasp his arm with one hand.

As angry as he was, he didn't dare shake him off.

Dwalin was one of the few who knew exactly how deceptive Balin's appearance was. Though shorter, his brother was just as wide and had a strength that could rival his own. If he tried to fight him, Dwalin didn't doubt he'd be thrown ass over kettle with an hour long lecture recited over him before he could even get back up.

Certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Grumbling all the while, Dwalin allowed himself to be dragged to their personal tent.

He grunted when he was pushed in, lifting his hand to remove Balin's, but paused halfway through the motion.

Blood was staining his hands.

Blood from a too small lass with mithril eyes set upon a familiar face.

Dwalin's fury returned.

“I'll kill 'im,” he growled, voice dark in a way that was usually reserved for Orcs. “After tha', I'll get the bastard who put those blasted chains on 'er.”

Balin frowned, eyes shadowed by the heavy slump of his brow.

“Thorin told me. Are you sure?”

“I 'ave no doubt, brother. Tha' girl is Bel's child.” Dwalin took a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. When he looked back at Balin, hurt clearly showed on his face. “She looks just like 'er. And she 'as scars, brother. Marks from whips. Some bastard took a whip to tha' lass. An' I was not there to keep 'er safe.”

“Oh, brother.” Balin moved before Dwalin could stop him, but he did no try to shake himself free of the hug.

“Jus' like with Bel,” he continued, dropping his head to rest atop Balin's. “I was not there.”

“It is not your fault.”

“No. It is Frerin's.”

Balin shook his head, muttering something against his arm, and pulled back to give him a stern look.

“You can't kill him, Dwalin.”

“Better me than Dís,” he pointed out. “Or Thorin wants he knows the lass 'as been scarred. A Dam o' the Durin line being whipped? He'll gut 'is brother 'imself.”

“He may not 'ave known, brother.”

“He _should_ 'ave!” Dwalin's roar echoed like thunder between them. “Ye know how he used to ignore their bond. They'd fight o'er somethin' an' he'd block 'er for weeks. _Weeks_ , brother. She was but a child, then.”

Balin sighed, but nodded in agreement.

“Bastard should 'ave checked. Should 'ave known. We would 'ave, had she not been forced to go back to 'er kin instead o' livin' with us. I'd 'ave known she was with child. Bel would not 'ave hid hit. Was 'er dream to be a mother 'nd marry 'er One. She should 'ave been given tha' right!”

“You cannot throw everything on Frerin, brother,” Balin finally said after a few tense moments. “You cannot claim that Belladonna did not also use their Bond to cause harm just as he did.”

“She was a child!”

“Aye, but not all the time. Just to you. She would always be a child to you.” Balin sighed while Dwalin began pacing the tent. “You are angry right now. Do not act on it.”

“He turned 'er away when she came lookin'. He said 'imself tha' she wanted to see me. To see Dori. And he refused to let 'er in.”

“We both know what would have happened had he allowed it. The King would have had her captured.”

“He could 'ave hid her! The King was lost in madness. She was a 'obbit. Could 'ave hid 'erself. Just not...”

“Just not if she was with child,” Balin said around a sigh. “Because too much Hobbit magic on an unborn babe can cause the child harm.”

“She never liked when ye'd call it magic.”

“Aye. Said it was a Wizard's nonsense to manage.” Balin offered a grin, but Dwalin did not return it.

“He should 'ave known.”

“But he did not. Despite how often the two fought, we all know how much they loved one another. They had a horrible start as Bond partners, but they grew strong in time. You can't just throw all the blame at him. Not when we both know exactly how much trouble Belladonna brought to those around her. Was that not the very reason her father brought her to you to mentor? So that she could defend herself when the consequences to her games caught up?”

Dwalin fell silent, glaring angrily ahead, and ground his teeth against the rage clawing up the back of his throat.

“I will not forgive 'im.”

“I am not asking you to,” Balin assured gently.

A moment passed before Dwalin deflated.

Shaking his head, he turned towards the entrance, but stopped just as he began pushing the canvas aside.

“Dori will know the moment he sees 'er. Though the frame is all Bel, that coloring is all Lady Bilri. Mithril fer hair an' eye. Moonstone skin. The strongest traits o' the Ri Line. The traits only Dori 'as in full.”

Balin sighed. “He will, yes.”

“If Dori tries to kill 'im, I will not help stop 'im.”

Dwalin was gone before Balin could say another word.

On the other side of the tent, waiting on a pallet of furs just out of view of the entrance, a Dwraf sighed.

“It was foolish of you to try and hide here, Frerin,” Balin said without turning.

“I wasn't hiding,” he answered, pulling himself slowly up. “I knew the moment he saw her that he'd be after me. I deserve every bit of his anger.”

“Maybe,” Balin agreed, watching as his prince moved towards the entrance with a guarded expression. “But you do not deserve to die when you and your Bonded were at fault for keeping secrets.”

“Maybe,” Frerin echoed. “But maybe not.”

“Fre–”

“Both Fíli and Kíli are now awake. The bandit left alive has been recovered. He is going to be brought to the meeting for interrogation,” Frerin said over anything the advisor tried to say. “Thorin has ordered the Thain-Heir to be present, as well.”

“I see.”

Balin sighed into the silence, now alone. 

He rubbed his hands tiredly over his face, shaking it in frustration.

“Oh, lass. You really do cause trouble wherever you go. Let us hope your daughter is more reasonable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview of Next Chapter
> 
> Bilbo bolted up, eyes wide as she jerked her head around, and blinked rapidly at Flambard who stood further back with a short, broken branch held out in front of him. The other half lay in pieces from where she'd struck it reflexively.
> 
> “Oh,” she breathed, trying to relax her coiled muscles. “You scared me, Flam. What is it?” She knew he would never wake her unless it was absolutely necessary.
> 
> “I'm sorry, cousin. Primula insisted we let you rest, but I'm concerned. She's just left for a meeting with the royal representatives. It will be dark soon. She needs rest after the stres of the day, and I do not know how long the meeting will last.”
> 
> Bilbo nodded in understanding.
> 
> Flambard wasn't the only one who suddenly felt ill at ease with the news of Primula being out there without any of her kin for protection.
> 
> She looked around the tent, taking notice of the Dwobbits who looked more like their Dwarrow parent than their Hobbit one, and frowned.
> 
> She'd thought looking so much like a Hobbit would help her hide, but it seemed to be doing the opposite now that she was near those who truly cared for her mother.
> 
> “Go fetch me my pack, Flambard.”
> 
> He frowned, but stepped back to obey her order. “What are you planning on doing?”
> 
> “There is no point in hiding who I am anymore. With the situation being as it is, I need my authority as Thain-Heir to keep you all safe.”
> 
> Flambard nodded before fading into the crowd.
> 
> She did one last look around at her kin, taking note of who was still awake and within the canvas walls, before gritting her teeth in determination.
> 
> This is for Prim and everyone else. I need every advantage I can get.
> 
> “So,” Bilbo called innocently towards her kin, “I need to look like a proper noble woman. Who wants to help me get ready?”
> 
> Shrills cries and excited chatter immediately answered her.
> 
> Bilbo cringed, but smiled through the mounting dread.
> 
> For Prim. You are doing this for Prim.
> 
> She only hoped constantly reminding herself would eventually make her suffering worth it.


	17. SEVENTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! The magic tag is really going to start coming in now. Many questions will be answered next chapter. If I can finish editing in time, I'll update early to help move this chapter along easier.
> 
> Warm wishes to everyone!

-LoSF-

Bilbo bolted up, eyes wide as she jerked her head around, and blinked rapidly at Flambard who stood further back with a short, broken branch held out in front of him. The other half lay in pieces from where she'd struck it reflexively.

“Oh,” she breathed, trying to relax her coiled muscles. “You scared me, Flam. What is it?” She knew he would never wake her unless it was absolutely necessary.

“I'm sorry, cousin. Primula insisted we let you rest, but I'm concerned. She's just left for a meeting with the royal representatives. It will be dark soon. She needs rest after the stress of the day, and I do not know how long the meeting will last.”

Bilbo nodded in understanding.

Flambard wasn't the only one who suddenly felt ill at ease with the news of Primula being out there without any of her kin for protection.

She'd thought looking so much like a Hobbit would help her hide, but it seemed to be doing the opposite now that she was near those who truly cared for her mother.

“Go fetch me my pack, Flambard.”

He frowned, but stepped back to obey her order. “What are you planning on doing?”

“There is no point in hiding who I am anymore. With the situation being as it is, I need my authority as Thain-Heir to keep you all safe. Besides, I am certain my identity is already known.”

Flambard nodded before fading into the crowd.

She did one last look around at her kin, taking note of who was still awake and within the canvas walls, before gritting her teeth in determination.

_This is for Prim and everyone else. I need every advantage I can get._

“So,” Bilbo called innocently towards her kin, “I need to look like a proper noble woman. Who wants to help me get ready?”

Shrills cries and excited chatter immediately answered her.

Bilbo cringed, but smiled through the mounting dread.

_For Prim. You are doing this for Prim._

She only hoped constantly reminding herself would eventually make her suffering worth it.

-LoSF-

Elves, Men, and Dwarrow came and went quickly from the Royal Tent in preparation for the much awaited meeting with the Thain-Heir.

King Thranduil, accompanied by Prince Legolas and several guards, was placed to the right, while King Bard and a few of his Men took up most of the left. Much to everyone's displeasure, the Master of Lake-town had sent Alfrid to represent his domain, and the weasel claimed a spot close to the entrance.

Thankfully, he hardly ever attended the meetings.

Today was one of the lucky days where he remained in his own personal tent.

Dori, like most others, had rather hoped the Master would not involve himself after forcing Men of questionable character upon them.

Sadly, the Lake Master sent extra Men and Alfrid to remain in Thorin's camp.

The true reason for them joining with the others hadn't been found out, but it was heavily speculated the Men from the Lake wished to stop the alliance with the Hobbits.

Their efforts my have not been needed.

Since the ruler of the Hobbits declared the decision would be up to his Heir, it was very likely that she would refuse them without hearing their side.

The Thain had been honest enough to tell Thorin this while making a contract.

Still, Dori knew he wasn't the only one who was hoping the young woman would approve the alliance after hearing just her dire of a situation they had all found themselves in.

It was said, after all, the Thain-Heir would always put her people above her feelings.

Hopefully, the impending threat to all Hobbits and half-borns would sway her from making a hasty decision.

“You seem tense today, Dori.” Dís glanced to him as she was escorted in by Dwalin. He tracked the guard's tense movements with concerned eyes until he disappeared out of the tent.

“It is nothing, Princess Dís,” he replied formally. He felt her presence at the edge of his consciousness, sitting just at the boundary of where their Blessed Bond forged together to create the connection. Though he could pick nothing up from her mind, either an intentional channel or accidental overflow, Dori was suddenly even more tense. “I only wonder if your brother and Dwalin fell into another confrontation. Elder Prince Frerin has been very closed off since coming here. Dwalin, on the other hand, seems fit for battle.”

“Ah.” Dís leaned back, accepting the goblet Thorin handed to her with a murmur of thanks. She sipped quietly for a few moments, inclining her head to those who called a greeting as they entered, before turning her eyes to him. “We will discuss it after the meeting.”

Dís dipped his chin in acknowledgement, but said nothing as his gaze slid to the newest occupant being escorted by Dwalin.

The Hobbit Thain.

Gerontius Took.

Belladonna's father.

His heart _ached_ at the very thought of the one who was missing from his side.

It wasn't the same ache that came at the thought of fierce Aunt Lalri, Dwalin and Balin's mother. Or of Aunt Melri, little Ori's mother.

It didn't even compare to the ache that came with remembering Bilri, his and Nori's mother.

No, the ache was far too cutting and shattering to ever feel the same as any other loss.

Because she was his One. His everything. And she fled far away from him and all the dangers his homeland and Royal Blood brought her.

Dori had prayed to Mahal and Yavanna every single day and night to guard his One for the rest of her days.

He'd hoped to find her after the quiet war within Erebor ended, to beg her to return home with him where madness and war could no longer force them apart, but she died before that could happen.

She was gone from the world.

One day he'd join her, but for now he waited.

Waited with far too many questions without answers.

Dori hoped, even if everything fell apart, that Gerontius would still answer a few things for him.

He only needed to wait until the final meeting was over.

Then, with his promise to Thorin vowing not to approach his One's father until all business was settled, he would finally know what happened to his One.

“Dori, ye 'ave to stay calm.”

The mumble to his right was hardly surprising. Nori, who took up his position behind Víli, didn't even need to glance his way to know he was struggling to stay a solemn presence at his Bonded's back.

Be it Orc or court matters, the Ri Line did not react.

If it involved one of their own Clan members, however, a Dwarf of Ri could not stay still and felt deeply.

“I already spoke to the Thain on your behalf,” Dís murmured behind a golden goblet. “He understands why you have been unable to speak to him, and agrees it would be best to keep personal matters for later. I've told you this before.”

Dori nodded, but said nothing.

Even if they said that, it didn't make it any easier.

“Ah. He seems in high spirits today.” Dori turned at Thorin's voice. He followed his gaze, landing on a rather amused looking Thain. Typically, Gerontius held a solemn air despite the gentle smile on his weathered face. Today, however, the aged Hobbit had an air of merry mischief around him. “He must be relieved to have his Heir back.”

“Perhaps.”

Dori frowned at Dís. There was both doubt and and worry in her tone, but she said no more. Turning back to the Thain, Dori was surprised to see him looking at them with an amused grin as he carefully lowered himself to the chair placed in the middle of the tent.

He waved off King Bard's offer of drink and plate, never once allowing his gaze to fall from the Royal Family of Erebor. He held Dís' steady gaze with growing mischief for a few minutes, but looked to the Younger and Youngest Prince, who sat next to Víli with a look of exhaustion and pain in their eyes. A look of curiosity flashed across his face when his eyes slid away.

“Ah. So, it was you two I saw on Prince's back. He's a strong pony, don't you think?” There was an undercurrent of something fierce in the Thain's tone. It was protective and just on the edge of angry. With a Took, that was never a good thing. With one such as Gerontius, it guaranteed that _something_ was coming. And there would be no hope of stopping it.

“Yes, he is remarkable,” Fíli answered, sounding more respectful than he had ever heard the boy be in a political meeting. “His rider even more so.”

Thain's expression softened into something fond at Fíli's words. He smiled warmly, voice ringing with notes of amusement when he spoke. “That she is.”

Their conversation fell silent as Gandalf, looking worn and haggard, entered beside an agitated Radagast.

Instantly, the Thain's disposition changed. His eyes glinted with ire as he looked at Gandalf. The wizard smiled kindly at the old Hobbit, but there was a pained light in his eyes that spoke of a wound that one wasn't expecting to heal.

Dori knew those wounds well.

Smiling coldly, Gerontius greeted the Wizards. “Ah. I see you have decided to once again to ruin my mood with your presence, Grey One. I hoped you would continue to avoid me.”

Gandalf sighed, but said nothing as Radagast hurried him forward with grumbles too low for Dori to hear. Based on the disturbed confusion on the Elven guards behind the Royals of Greenwood, he decided not hearing was for the best.

“Ah. Your Heir has arrived, Thain Took,” Thorin announced as Dwalin entered the tent once again, trailing the steps of a worn Hobbit lass and the Thain's advisor, Fortinbras II, who led her by the arm.

“Has she now?” Dori's gaze narrowed at the smirk slowly cutting across Old Took's face. It set off a buzzing suspicion in the back of his mind. It would have been easy to ignore, but the creeping sense of unease for what was to come couldn't be pushed aside. The Thain was up to something. “And how is the Thain-Heir?”

“Tired,” answered the woman immediately, voice soft and lilting in the way of all Hobbits. “And very curious to find out the purpose of all this nonsense.”

“In time,” Thain answered, watching as Fortinbras directed the young Hobbit to a high-back chair closer to the entrance, but in line with the Thain's. The lass accepted the advisor's help into the chair, but said nothing in reply Dwalin's inquiry of food or drink. The Dwarf stepped away with a sigh, moving across the tent to call out to the Dwarrow waiting nearby. “What's this?”

“Before we begin discuss on the alliance between your people and ours, we have another matter to settle,” Thorin explained. “We have an interogation for you to witness.”

“And it could not have waited?” He glanced back to his Heir who dangerously paled at the sight of a snarling Man being carried in on a stretcher. The bandages around what remained of his leg already beginning to bleed through despite having just been changed. “Hobbit women are not to witness such violent matters.”

“And yet it was a Hobbit woman who did this to him,” Thorin pointed out, not backing down when a frosty green glare speared him. “This Man is a Bandit who attacked the Thain-Heir's Guard, the Younger Prince of Erebor, and the Youngest Prince of Erebor. The other two,” he gestured to the Men being dragged in between several Dwarrow, hands tied by thick rope stopping them from striking out, “had been found trying to help him escape.”

“We were looting,” one of the Men spat out after being forced to kneel beside the stretcher. The Dwarrow who escorted them quickly filed out with a nod from Thorin. “He's a lost cause with that wound. Best to take wha' he 'as 'fore others get it.”

“Aye. Bleed out or die from infection with 'is leg chopped as it is,” the second said, spitting on the ground while glaring at Thorin. “So, what we 'ere fer?”

“You've attacked Erebor's Royal family,” Balin said, standing at Thorin's left with a scowl. “We will be finding out why you chose such a foolish thing, and how you knew where to wait in order to attack them.”

“It's one of our regular routes. Not our fault yer lads were on it.” The second shrugged, raising his chin challenging at Balin.

“Maybe so, but you did not attack when the others went by.”

The first snorted. “Who is to say we were already 'ere when ye little rock an' garden folk went by?”

Balin's expression tensed at the slight, but otherwise showed no reaction. The Thain, however, snorted loudly with a broad grin.

“Lads these days sure are noisy! I hope I was never so bold to my elders.”

“If I recall correctly,” Fortinbras began, twin blue eyes dulled by clouds of white staring unseeingly ahead, “Uncle Hildigrim has said before that you were much worse.”

Gerontius laughed. He offered a warm smile to his grandson, but cut a cold look back to the Men. “We _garden folk_ may be small, but that just means we're used to having to look up. My dear,” he called to his heir, “were there Men on the pass?”

“Yes,” she answered quietly but firmly. “We were such a large group and moving quickly that we believed they chose not to attack for that reason.” Her expression pinched, drawing a curious sound from her leader.

“But?”

“But Flambard pointed out the Men most likely had bows, and were at a large advantage being so high above us. We would have lost many had they attacked. And we Hobbits, chained as we were, would be at the heaviest disadvantage even with the company trying to protect us. Still, they hadn't attacked.”

“Well, there you have it,” said the Thain with a smile. “You Big Folk were waiting for someone to pass.”

“Just 'cause we didn't attack 'em, doesn't mean we were waiting for anyone. Like the chit said, it was a big group.”

“Watch your mouth, boy. That's my grandchild you're insulting.” Green eyes glinted with frost at the Men, but they only bristled in response.

“Silence,” Thorin ordered, brow twitching when the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm sighed in boredom a moment later. Dori despaired at their childish rivalry, but felt a rush of relief when Thorin reacted no further. “You are certain it was a group of Bandits?”

“Yes,” Thain-Heir answered with a disquieted glance towards the Men when they barred their teeth at her response. “We kept an eye on them until we were out of sight of the pass.”

Thorin nodded, eyes slanting back to the Men where a warning glint shimmered within the blue steel of his gaze. “So, we have witnesses saying you were there at the time the company passed. And considering the distance between the pass and here, your group must have stayed for a long time. From my own experiences with bandits, I can say that such actions are only taken if a payment has been made.”

Both Men twitched with anger, but it was the first Man, the taller of the two with red-brown hair and freckles barely visible beneath dirt and grime, who spoke. “We've taken no payment from nobody. Just decided to wait there.”

“Oh? And who decided that?”

Both Men glanced to the Man on the stretcher without thought. He glared at them beneath sweat slicked brown hair, but said nothing as he continued to breathe laboriously.

Dori didn't think the Man would last much longer, but the Elven Healers had done what they could to keep him alive and coherent long enough for answers to be given.

Though, if the Men continued to become increasingly hostile, the Man would be dead long before anything could really be solved.

“So, your leader, the Man who has lost his leg, was the one to give the order to wait.” Thorin glanced at Balin. They shared a long look before the advisor nodded.

“If you tell us why you were after my Heir _and_ who paid you to try for his head, King Thorin will spare your lives.”

Instead of jumping at the deal, both Men began cursing harshly at Thorin. With wild grins and a sudden light shining in their eyes, they looked on the brink of madness.

“ **This is what I meant,** ” Frerin said into the stony silence coming from the Royal tables. Both King Bard and the Elvenking had leaned forward slightly, eyes trained on the Men as if looking for something. They all knew exactly what that something was. “ **I told you the Men who would attack showed signs of an unreasonable madness that matched what we've seen before. I believe they've all been influenced by whatever power that controlled the others, but the Men from my march did not have the black marks upon their skin like the Men, Dwarrow, and Elves closer to Erebor were found with**."

“Hey! Stop speakin' in tha' cursed tongue,” the second man, the one who looked the strongest of all three, roared. “I hate it! Sounds like damn wild beasts speakin'. Speak like yer betters!”

Dori bristled along with every other Dwarf in the tent. A raised hand from Thorin stopped anyone from reacting, but their hard glares spoke enough of their desire to rid the Man of his empty head.

“You are trying to rile me,” he said, voice certain and snapping with controlled rage. “Why? Do you think I'm not angry enough at the attack against my nephews? You would try to incur my wrath of your own choice? When before it was, according to you, earned unknowingly?”

All three Men glared back at Thorin. Dori would have thought them courageous for facing such a thunderous expression without so much as flinching, but the growing glint in their eyes spoke of courage born of a broken mind rather than a warrior's spirit.

It disturbed him in seeing it there so clearly.

Moments ago, there had been no sign of such instability.

It was looking more and more like the Men were, as Frerin said, being controlled by someone like the others had been.

Such a thing did not bode well for any of them.

It meant the mastermind behind the events of fifty years ago was a step ahead of them. Again.

“You know,” King Bard began into the tense silence between the Dwarrow and bandits, “I have never had a need to travel beyond the Woodland Realm. The pass is not known to me, but I imagine it is a day's travel from here.”

“Aye,” Frerin confirmed when the King looked to him.

“If that is true, that would mean the Bandits waited for many hours for Prince Fíli, who was traveling a day behind the retrieval group, to arrive. Furthermore, they gave chase desperately even after hours of riding. Prince Kíli?”

The dark-haired prince looked to the King of Dale, youthful curiosity shining in his eyes next to the pain from his wounds, and nodded for him to continue.

“In the report we were given, you claimed to have sensed something wrong with your brother five hours before you both returned here?”

“I did.”

“And it was from wounds sustained against an Orc?”

“Aye,” Kíli said with a nod. “I felt his pain and anger. After that, I tracked him. Met with him and the warrior-maiden after three hours.”

“I see,” Bard frowned, looking to the Bandit on the stretcher in confusion. “Why give chase for three hours without knowing if your targets had anything of value? Especially when so many of your Men had already been lost. You chased them until the Hobbit woman made sure you no longer could. That was a mere ten minutes from our location. Why were you so desperate to catch them? Had you simply recognized the Prince of Erebor? Or had someone told you he was there?”

“All good observations, King Bard,” Gandalf finally spoke, eyeing the bandits with bushy white brows pulled together in a frown. “I, too, would like to know the answer to those.”

“You struck me first,” Kíli said when the bandits continued to stay silent. “Fired an arrow with a sleeping potion coating the metal. I was unaware of your presence. You could have easily killed me. You did not want me dead.”

“Aye,” Bard agreed. “But a dead body is easier to search, so what values they thought a young Dwarf may have on him was not their goal.”

Thorin nodded at Bard in agreement. “That's right. Your goal was to take my nephews alive. But why?”

The injured Man laughed harshly, voice scratching at Dori's ears like a fork across a plate.

“On an' on ye bastards keep talkin' 'bout nothin',” he slurred, eyes bright with challenge and anger and something not quite _right_. “Ye've already decided we were waitin' for them Durin shits to come through to snag, so why keep askin'?”

“That is–”

Thorin fell silent when the Hobbit woman spoke. Her voice, where moments before had been calm, now burned with rage and suspicion.

“You said 'them Durins'. That you were waiting for ' _them Durins'_.” The Thain-Heir stood from her seat, taking several steps forward so that she was a bit closer to where the Bandits gathered. “Why do you say _them_ if the second Prince had yet to arrive at your location? He was coming from the other direction. You had no way of knowing this. So, how were you aware of him heading your direction?”

“Clever wee chit,” the bandit growled in response, voice higher than it had been moments before. “Think yer so smart, but yer nothin'. Not compared to us.”

“You are right, my dear,” Thain said after a heavy pause. “There was no way of knowing young Prince Kíli was heading that way. He'd left camp five hours before, yes, but did not tell anyone where he was going. How would anyone know which way he was heading?”

The three bandits laughed cruelly at the Thain's frosty glare. Gandalf, Radagast, and Thranduil suddenly shifted, eyes narrowing on the bandits as if sensing something the others in the tent could not.

“Ye've figured it out. She said 'obbits were clever,” the first Man said, laughing wildly around his words, eyes burning bright as if a fever had settled over his body.

“It was not the Youngest Prince who you were referring to,” the Thain continued, voice twisting into something heavy with rage as he stood to face the bandits. “The second Durin you meant to kidnap, was not Kíli. He just showed up at the wrong time.”

“Aye, but he would 'ave made a sweet bonus.” The second grinned wildly at Kíli. The prince, flinching as if in pain, grabbed his shoulder with a gasp. Fíli and Víli rose at the same type, quickly grasping at the prince before he could fall over. “Three Durins would 'ave been enough.”

“Three Durins,” Bard mumbled in confusion.

“You dare to try!” The Old Took's voice boomed through the tent, wrathful and condemning. A tremble went through the stone, ringing with the sound of his fury.

All three bandits cackled, their laughter echoing as one.

Thranduil stood suddenly, pushing his son behind him with cold fury curling his lips. Gandalf moved just as fast. An ancient word from his lips sparked a bright light within the twisting wood making the magical staff. He swiftly pressed his the light against Kíli's wounded shoulder, making the lad spasm in pain. Something sizzled where skin connected and a black smoke appeared.

“Dark Magic. The Witch is here,” Radagast gasped before taking hold of Kíli's uninjured hand. He began to chant softly, a faint glow around him, as the bandits continued to laugh.

“Stop this at once, Shadow Witch!” Thorin stood, rage vibrating through every inch of his being, as he reached for the weapon at his side.

“Three Durins! Three Durins!”

Dori shivered as a sense of _wrong_ swept through the stone when the three continued to croon between their chilling laughter.

He watched in morbid amazement as the veins around their eyes turned black.

Though not the first time he'd witnessed such a happening, it never ceased to make him ill.

“Behind me, Princess,” Dori snarled, bodily putting himself between his Bonded and the table. If those being controlled tried to attack her, they'd have to get through him first.

The spreading marks pulsed in time with Gandalf's fierce chanting, aided by what sounded like an Elven prayer from Thranduil and his son, before their eyes became like the blackest of coal. A single red slit like a burning flame appeared at the center.

“Get away from them!” Thain's bellow immediately drew everyone's attention to the trembling woman frozen to the spot not far from the crazed Men. The Old Took hurried forward with his walking stick in hand, moving quickly but not nearly fast enough in an effort to reach his kin,

Dwalin rushed forward in the same moment Bard vaulted over his table.

“What will you do? What will you do,” they sang, voices twisting in pitch to become something inhuman as their glowing eyes looked between the two Hobbits. “If a Hobbit dies here, what will you do?”

“Well,” a voice forged of cold fury and unyielding steel called into the chaos, slicing through the twisting laughter so calmly that the three possessed Men fell silent, “I imagine I'd kill everyone responsible. However, I won't be letting a Hobbit die today. So, I'll thank you to keep away from my kin.”

Dori glanced up, eyes wide at the figure calmly walking into the tent with a scarred Hobbit several steps behind.

He choked out a strangled breath, swaying slightly as Nori cursed and Dís reached through their Bond to try and bolster him with her calm presence.

It wasn't the Hobbit's sudden presence that stole the breath from his lungs.

No, it was the Hobbit's appearance in and of itself.

Because the young face was a mask of the one he missed above all others.

The eyes belonged to a mother he ached to see again.

And the hair was the same bright silver that sat atop his own skull.

Dori felt his knees give out as shock overtook him.

He braced himself on the table, his ears and eyes no longer acknowledging the world around him as his heart felt as though it was being shredded over and over again.

Because there was only one reason a Hobbit woman would have the face of Belladonna and the coloring of his kin.

“Nori,” he rasped, vision dimming as familiar hands quickly shoved him into a chair.

He registered screaming and the sound of Dwalin bellowing a warning, but his awareness was fading quickly despite how desperately he tried to fight against it for just another moment so that he could see _her_ and protect _her_ because _she_ was no doubt _theirs_.

But he couldn't fight against the shock anymore than he could fight against the sudden shattering of his scarred heart.

“Belladonna's...”

He slumped over, the name of his One the last sound on his lips before darkness embraced him.

-LoSF-

“Well,” a familiar voice caught Thorin's attention. He glanced to the entrance, eyes widening with recognition and despair at the sight of the Hobbit Guard, and quickly reached through his Bond to try and let Dwalin pull on his steady presence to keep himself under control. “I imagine I'd kill everyone responsible. However, I won't be letting a Hobbit die today. So, I'll thank you to keep away from my kin.”

She continued to step forward, movements steady and purposeful with her eyes locked on the possessed Men, and glared defiantly at the sudden cackling ripping from the throat of the bandit on the floor.

“Kill the Heir! Kill the Heir!” The Witch's voice burst from the mouth of the Man, sending a rush of ice down his spine at the malice in her tone. “Quickly!”

“Dwalin!”

His cousin dove for the frozen Hobbit lass the moment the two Men sprinted forward at a speed far too fast for mere mortal Men to reach.

He wrapped himself around her protectively, back exposed to the Men as Bard stepped in their path with a sword in hand.

But the possessed Men didn't go for Dwalin or the Thain-Heir.

The two screeched in fury as they closed in on the Hobbit Guard.

Pain lanced through his soul through the Bond with Dwalin as they reached her.

“No!” Fíli was held back from jumping over the table only by Nori's quick hands.

Bard twisted around to try and make it in time as Dwalin roared a warning, but his efforts were for naught.

Because the moment the Men reached her, something zipped by the woman's head, lifting her silver hair like ribbons in the wind, and struck both Men in the forehead with a crack.

They fell, dark smoke sizzling from their bodies as the evil that controlled them fell away, and slumped over.

Both were dead in an instant.

“Flambard,” the woman said around a sigh, stepping over the bodies with little concern for the blood quickly pooling beneath them, “I could have handled them.”

“Aye,” the scarred Hobbit moved forward swiftly, grabbing hold of the thick skirts swishing around the Guard's ankles to keep blood from soaking the fabric. “But then the lasses will be distraught if you get blood all over their hard work. And, as I'm sure you saw, there was something tainted about them. Best not let them touch you.”

“True.” She inclined her head, silver following the movement like a lazy stream. “Still, I wish to know exactly what happened to these three. They were not like that when we met earlier.”

A cackle from the Man on the stretcher echoed through the tent. “Do you like what you see,” a woman's voice crooned from the Man's lips. “Do you like my power? I can make you like me! To rule over all!”

Dwalin was suddenly standing in front of the Hobbit, axes drawn and ready to defend if the Shadow Witch tried any new tricks. The Guard frowned, but made no attempt to go around.

“What are you,” she demanded.

But the body of the Man had reached his limits.

Black smoke rose up as he passed from the injuries he received earlier, and the Shadow Witch's chilling laughter swept through the tent.

Kíli slumped forward with a gasp, panting as the light from Radagast and Gandalf sputtered out. Fíli held his hand, but his eyes were fixated on the Hobbit Guard.

“I see you have spoken true,” the Thain said into the still silence, eyes moving to Thorin with a heaviness that hadn't been there before. “It seems there is something evil on the move.”

“Grandfather,” the Guard called before Thorin could answer. “What happened to those Men? They did not have such evil power earlier.” Thorin had to applaud her control. While the Thain-Heir was trembling and sobbing as Bard and Fortinbras tried to console her, she was a silver statue coated in ice.

“We will explain soon, my dear.”

“I see. Does it have something to do with why we are here?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

Balin stopped them from continuing with a cough.

The lass looked to him, brow raised in question, as she moved to her cousin.

Dwalin followed obediently without a word.

Behind him, her kin trailed them both with a snort of amusement despite the grim look on his face.

“I'm afraid we cannot disclose any other details for now,” Balin said with a kind smile. “This discussion is between the Royal Families, the Thain, and the Thain-Heir.”

“I see,” the guard said, kneeling down in front of the shaken Heir. Hobbitish fell from her lips, warm and soothing, until the lass calmed. Then, she easily swept the woman up in her arms. “Flamard.”

“Fine, fine. That's why I'm here, right?”

He stepped forward, took the lass without complaint, and turned for the door with Fortinbras at his heels.

“Wait,” Balin called, eyes wide in shock. Then, with a look of pained understanding contorting his features, he sighed into his hands. “Oh. She will be just as bad as the other one,” he mumbled.

“Halt,” Thorin boomed, scowling at the group trying to leave. Two of his guardsmen at the door stepped in with weapons at the ready. “We will not put this discussion off.”

“Tell your guards to put away their weapons,” the Hobbit Guard ordered, voice snapping with command and the promise of violence. “Or I will make it so they can't hold one ever again.”

Silver eyes rose to meet his own gaze.

Thorin tensed immediately as that piercing gaze like an approaching blade cut straight through him.

Only years upon years of training with Fundin stopped him from reaching to see if the blade he felt at his throat was there or not.

Swallowing, Thorin looked at Frerin in surprise.

“ **She has the eyes of a War Master,** ” he said, just barely hiding his shock. He had not encountered anyone other than Fundin who had reached such a high level in Battle Craft that they carried death itself in their gaze.

Frerin nodded, jaw tense as he glanced over at Dís. It was only then that he realized Dori had fainted. Gandalf was quietly working on reviving him, while their sister stood with an air as frigid as a winter storm around her.

Thorin swallowed, gaze flying back to the Hobbit woman as he ordered his guards to put down their weapons, and nodded his head.

“The Thain-Heir must be here for the meeting. We have delayed far too long. Those bandits being possessed as they were is proof enough.”

The Guard sighed as she stood, taking Bard's offered hand with a polite smile. Apparently throwing himself in front of dangerous enemies for the sake of her kin had put him in her good graces.

_Lucky bastard._

“I see. Then, there is no problem. The Thain-Heir shall remain.”

“Thank you for your understanding,” Thorin dipped his chin in relief of her easy acceptance.

“Flambard, take Primula to rest. Make sure she is seen by our best Healers.”

In a rush of agitation, Thorin slapped his hands on the table, blue eyes blazing down at the infuriating woman. Truly, Thorin could see Belladonna in her. Though the mother was a lot more fiery in her show of arrogance, her daughter held that same haughtiness within her cold air.

“You just agreed that she will stay.”

“Aye. And stay the Thain-Heir shall. We've agreed to this. Has your old age left you senile?” She rolled her silver eyes, smiling up at Bard when he snorted out a laugh. Thorin glared when the amused chuckle of the Elvenking reached his ears.

“I see,” Thranduil said, folding himself back into his chair with a curious look about his face. Thorin scowled at seeing it. “Three Durins is what they claimed. Three souls returned here from their ambush. Your soul has the feel of both a Dwarf and Hobbit.”

Thorin tensed, eyes snapping to the Hobbit to see her reaction, and was surprised when she only nodded.

“Yes. I had hoped to keep it hidden, but I realized upon arriving here that those who knew my mother were able to identify me immediately. I hadn't known Elves joined the Men and Dwarrow, or else I would have been more prepared for you to sense me out.”

“My apologies, Little One.” Surprisingly, Thranduil seemed to mean it. “I had not meant to bring up your secrets.”

“Quite alright,” she said with a smile. “The bandits revealed it, the Ereborian Royals realized it, Elves could sense it, and Grandfather most likely would have spoke on it.”

“Yes, for your safety. Though, I had planned on speaking with you first on how you wished to do so,” Gerontius sighed, hand rising to wave at Flambard who nodded respectfully before continuing towards the exit.

Thorin bristled, mouth open to order them to stay still, but Bard's sudden laughter silenced him. The grim Man wasn't one for such displays of amusement, so to hear it was shocking.

“I see. I can't say I'm overly surprised.” He grinned down at her, eyes bright with admiration before he swept into a practiced bow. “I am King Bard, Lady Hobbit. May I ask your name?”

“Has my Grandfather not given it?”

“No,” he answered with a shake of his head. “You've only been mentioned as his heir and grandchild.”

The Guard snorted, the sound barely covering the startled noise that escaped Dori when he came to with a grunt. She raised an amused brow at Gerontius, but he only grinned and waved in a grand sweeping motion. The lass took a step back, gently grasped her skirts, and dipped into a beautiful curtsy.

“Lady Bilbo Baggins,” she introduced, eyes bright with mischief. “Blood daughter of Belladonna Took, heart daughter of Bungo Baggins, Dwobbit of Mistfield, and the true Thain-Heir. Whether I shall be at your service or not has yet to be decided, but I assure you that you _will_ be at mine.”

Dori fainted where he sat.

Thorin very nearly followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for Next Chapter:
> 
> -LoSF-
> 
> Fond amusement and hysterical glee bubbled up inside Dís at the Hobbit's – Bilbo's – introduction. It was all she could do not to laugh at the sudden silence that fell the tent.
> 
> Víli and Nori, who shared a look at the declaration, only sighed as they both twisted Víli's chair around so that the unconscious Dwarf sitting there would not be seen by the Hobbit just yet.
> 
> Thorin, as always, ruined her amusement with his big mouth.
> 
> “You know you aren't a proper Hobbit?”
> 
> Standing, the lass leveled him with a cold, cutting look.
> 
> “I am quite proper, thank you very much. You, on the other hand, are severely lacking in manners.”
> 
> “That is not–”
> 
> “Do not insult me by explaining the meaning to a fairly obvious statement,” she snapped. “It is, of course, quite obvious that I am a Dwobbit. I'm sure you noticed there are those in my kin who are Dwobbits.”
> 
> “Aye. But they have beards,” he pointed out. Dís sighed at the stubbornness of her brother that goaded him into arguing every point he'd ever had wrong. “You do not.”
> 
> “Astute observation skills, Gramps,” she drawled, earning a chuckle from the Men and Prince Legolas. “I see the sharpness I've been told of in regards to a Dwarf's eye for detail is remarkably true.”
> 
> Thorin scowled, but Gandalf interupted, voice rough with emotion, before he could argue.
> 
> “Belladonna had a child?” He looked from the lass to the Thain with hurt clear on his face. “And I did not know?”
> 
> “How could you? You only showed up to know where to find us, and then disappeared for the next fifty years,” Gerontius snapped, eyes hot with anger.
> 
> Bilbo hummed in thought a she looked between the two before moving towards the chair further back in the room. Dís opened her mouth to protest her sitting so far away, but words failed her when Bilbo crouched down to slide an arm under the heavy chair, one that had to be carried in by two adult Dwarrow, and lifted the bulky thing.
> 
> “Pardon me,” she said sweetly, eyes bright with laughter looking at Bard's stunned face as she walked by, one hand supporting the chair atop her shoulder while the other carefully held her skirts.
> 
> Bilbo didn't so much as stumble under the weight as she walked to where the Thain now sat. She placed the chair carefully beside his, complaining about how dresses always got in the way of simple tasks, and carefully shook out her skirts when she was done.
> 
> “Now, I will be sitting beside Grandfather. I do not trust any of you, so I will not be leaving him alone while you all sit so close,” she said truthfully, the words sharp against Dís' heart but fully expected. “Begin this meeting. I've stayed civil long enough for the sake of my kin. I'll have answers this night, either willingly given or forcefully earned. Your choice.”
> 
> Dís lips twitched at the sheer force of will and tenacity the girl had.


	18. EIGHTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope everyone is doing well. My toddler was trying to help 'clean' and accidentally broke my glasses and the screen off the laptop.
> 
> So, yeah. That caused a short delay. Thankfully she wasn't injured with the glass shards.
> 
> But I hurried to rewrite this chapter since it was lost. If I can get the baby back to sleep, I'll get the next chapter up here shortly. If not, it will be uploaded tomorrow evening.
> 
> Thank you for your patience!
> 
> By the way, anyone have input about laptops? I know nothing about them. I keep one strictly for writing and saving documents.

-LoSF-

Fond amusement and hysterical glee bubbled up inside Dís at the Hobbit's – Bilbo's – introduction. It was all she could do not to laugh at the sudden silence that fell the tent.

Víli and Nori, who shared a look at the declaration, only sighed as they both twisted Víli's chair around so that the unconscious Dwarf sitting there would not be seen by the Hobbit just yet.

Thorin, as always, ruined her amusement with his big mouth.

“You _know_ you aren't a proper Hobbit?”

Standing, the lass leveled him with a cold, cutting look.

“ _I_ am quite proper, thank you very much. You, on the other hand, are severely lacking in manners.”

“That is not–”

“Do not insult me by explaining the meaning to a fairly obvious statement,” she snapped. “It is, of course, quite obvious that I am a Dwobbit. I'm sure you noticed there are those in my kin who are Dwobbits.”

“Aye. But they have beards,” he pointed out. Dís sighed at the stubbornness of her brother that goaded him into arguing every point he'd ever had wrong. “You do not.”

“Astute observation skills, Gramps,” she drawled, earning a chuckle from the Men and Prince Legolas. “I see the sharpness I've been told of in regards to a Dwarf's eye for detail is remarkably true.”

Thorin scowled, but Gandalf interupted, voice rough with emotion, before he could argue.

“Belladonna had a child?” He looked from the lass to the Thain with hurt clear on his face. “And I did not know?”

“How could you? You only showed up to know where to find us, and then disappeared for the next fifty years,” Gerontius snapped, eyes hot with anger.

Bilbo hummed in thought as she looked between the two before moving towards the chair further back in the room. Dís opened her mouth to protest her sitting so far away, but words failed her when Bilbo crouched down to slide an arm under the heavy chair, one that had to be carried in by two adult Dwarrow, and lifted the bulky thing.

“Pardon me,” she said sweetly, eyes bright with laughter looking at Bard's stunned face as she walked by, one hand supporting the chair atop her shoulder while the other carefully held her skirts.

Bilbo didn't so much as stumble under the weight as she walked to where the Thain now sat. She placed the chair carefully beside his, complaining about how dresses always got in the way of simple tasks, and carefully shook out her skirts when she was done.

“Now, I will be sitting beside Grandfather. I do not trust any of you, so I will not be leaving him alone while you all sit so close,” she said truthfully, the words sharp against Dís' heart but fully expected. “Begin this meeting. I've stayed civil long enough for the sake of my kin. I'll have answers this night, either willingly given or forcefully earned. Your choice.”

Dís' lips twitched at the sheer force of will and tenacity the girl had.

In many ways, she was like her parents.

But, as Dís was clearly seeing, the lass outshone them both.

“Very well. Balin, give her the contract.”

Balin bobbed his head at Thorin's orders and rushed to see them through. He spoke quietly to Bilbo while the Thain listened silently at her side.

“She's a wall of ice,” Kíli muttered, breath slowly evening out after the combined efforts of the Wizards.

“No,” Fíli said just as quietly, returning to his seat while never taking concerned eyes off the Dwobbit. “She's just a master of keeping thoughts and feelings off her face when the situation calls for it.”

Kíli looked to his brother in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Our Stone Sense in unique,” he said, glancing from Bilbo to Kíli and back. “What do you see?”

“See?” His dark brow pinched together in thought. “Well, around her I see–” Kíli cut off with a strangled choke, eyes blown wide in shock.

“Kíli?” Víli thumped their son softly on the back before moving one hand to his neck in a soothing gesture. “Are you well?”

“What in the stone is that,” he hissed lowly through clenched teeth.

“I'm not sure what you see with your Stone Sense, but I can feel her emotions through the vibrations of the stone when she moves upon it,” Fíli explained, lips lifting in a helpless grin. “Rage and suspicion is what she feels. The depths of it strong enough to echo against the surface she moves on, so that the stone carried them to me.”

“Kíli,” Dís called quietly, eyes trained on Bilbo. “What did you see?”

Her son didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a calming breath and focused on the Thain-Heir. His uninjured leg shifted slightly so that his heavy boot tapped once against the ground. There was a seriousness to his eyes that hadn't been there a moment before as he used his Stone Sense to reach towards the Dwobbit.

Dís knew the exact moment his particular variation of Stone Sense reached the lass.

She twitched in the same moment Kíli flinched.

Silver eyes rose in what looked to be a casual glance around the room, but Dís had been watching too closely to be fooled.

Her passing glance paused ever so briefly on Kíli, barely even a second in time, but it had been enough to convey what Dís suspected.

The lass had the instincts of a vetted warrior from the Old Wars. Instincts strong enough to know she was being observed through stone, and practiced enough with them to let them guide her back to the onlooker.

Dwalin and Nori would be proud.

Dori, however, would no doubt worry.

“You knew I would be able to see her presence upon the stone,” Kíli muttered. “How?”

“While the stone will show me the history of all life that has imprinted upon it, over time the emotion left behind can fade away from the stone's memory. With Bilbo, depending on her state of mind, the stone echoes with her emotions as she moves. If I'm paying attention, the stone will send the feel of her soul through the ground with every steps she takes. For it to do that, Bilbo needed to have such a commanding presence that even solid stone quaked under the force of it.”

Kíli nodded in understanding as Víli raised a brow in surprise to Fíli's statement. Though no one could ever really understand exactly how their Stone Sense worked, the boys did their best to explain. It was too bad the Blessing of Stone Sight was so rare that only a few were born with it every few generations.

If it wasn't such a rare thing, both her sons wouldn't have suffered so long as children in their attempts to learn how to control the misunderstood power.

It certainly didn't help that the boys inherited different forms of the Blessing.

“Aye. I would say her presence is enough to make the stone shake under her steps. Whatever form her presence takes, I am unable to see all of it. For now, I can only make out a single blue eye that hovers behind her. It's as wide as she is tall.” Bilbo suddenly glanced up, eyes crinkling as she smiled brightly at Kíli. He flinched in response. “Definitely the eye of a predator.”

“Well,” Víli muttered, watching as several Dwarrow brought a small table to sit in front of the Thain and Thain-Heir, the same ones who dragged out the bodies earlier. Scribes rushed in a moment later to begin sorting out scrolls and journals, but Balin continued to go over the contract with the silver-eyed lass without speaking to them. “You are able to see her presence, but have you sensed anything from it?”

Kíli shook his head. “No. I do not sense evil from her. Her soul is not tainted. Fíli may be able to feel her anger right now, but it is only that. Emotions. I see and feel the form of the presence of those around me _if_ the soul is strong enough to be acknowledged by the stone. If it is not, the stone only shares a vague sense of life around me. I cannot feel emotions and see memories the way Fíli can.”

Fíli looked over with a smile at his brother's bereft tone. “Don't be like that, Kí. Your Stone Sense is just as powerful and helpful as mine.”

“Aye,” Kíli said with a sigh. “You're right.”

“Besides, it's what has made you such a good archer.”

Kíli squawked in outrage at that, spluttering about having natural born talent, while trying to smack at his laughing brother.

Dís smiled in amusement at the two, but it quickly faded as Balin, much to her shock, began stuttering.

Hurriedly looking back to Bilbo, Dís realized the lass was staring expectantly at a blushing Balin. Thain, on the other hand, looked as though he'd just witnessed the discovery of a diamond mine.

“Well, Master Balin?” Bilbo's voice easily filled the sudden silence in the tent. “I wish to know why marriage is mentioned in this contract.”

“I suggested a marriage would be best for a stronger alliance and greater assurance if we were to agree to help one another,” Thain said, lips twitching in amusement at Balin's reddened face.

“I see,” she stated while continuing to read. “And it says the Thain-Heir is to wed...”

A shiver went through the stone beneath Dís boots.

Though her Stone Sense wasn't as strong as Thorin's or Frerin's, that little pulse of _something_ carried the impression of forge fire within it.

Both her boys flinched visibly at whatever they felt.

She didn't bother asking.

It was obvious what the girl would feel at seeing Frerin's name written within the marriage contract.

“I see. This would tie me to the Elder Prince of Erebor, Frerin.” Dís barely stopped herself from grimacing. She, like her brothers, had suspected the Thain was up to something when agreeing so readily to an arrangement with Frerin.

None of them had suspected Bilbo, though.

“That arrangement will no longer stand against either party,” Frerin said, shocking Dís at the unexpected gentleness in his tone. “Even if Dwarven law did not forbid such a pairing, I would still not hold you to such a contract.”

Dís wasn't sure what emotion the girl felt behind such a carefully controlled expression, but she must have felt something quite strongly when her eyes locked on Frerin if the reactions of her boys and the Thain were anything to go by.

The Thain's hand flashed out the moment Frerin spoke to lock down on the girl's arm. Rapid Hobbitish flowed quietly from his tense mouth as her gaze stayed on her brother.

Fíli's knuckles had gone white from how tightly they balled. His face seemed unconcerned at a glance, but his gaze was pained in a way that broke her heart.

Kíli, who was still shaken from feeling her presence before, had paled rapidly. Beads of sweat began to dot his forehead. His breathing had accelerated right along with the pulse point at his neck.

None of those spoke as loudly as Kíli discreetly lifting his foot to escape whatever the stone was showing him, however.

Silver eyes had shifted to Kíli the moment he began to move.

Dís tensed as the girl took in the light trembling running up and down his frame.

She thought the Dwobbit would say something on the matter, but she only shifted to look back to Frerin.

It wasn't until Kíli released a relieved breath and dropped his foot back to the ground that Dís realized Bilbo had curled her own legs up, crossing them at the ankle, to rest them against the sturdy leg of her chair _off_ of the ground.

Dís hid a smile behind her goblet.

_If nothing else, she at least will not be cruel to the boys. That will have to be enough._

“I see. Would that be because I am only fifty years of age? That I have another twenty to go before I am considered an adult? Or because you shared a Blessed Bond with my mother?”

Frerin winced in face of such bluntness, but answered readily. “All of the above, but mainly the last. By Dwarven Law, with your mother being my Blessed Bond, her children are considered my nieces and nephews.”

Bilbo's expression did not change, but Dís felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as if sensing a threat.

“I see.” Her eyes were hardened steel over a bladed smile. “That applies even when the supposed Bond is broken?”

Frerin didn't waver under her gaze, but Dís did not doubt such a callous remark struck his soul like a hammer upon glass.

Still, she bit her tongue against trying to soothe either of them.

Frerin and Belladonna were as good as they were bad for one another.

There was no defense she could wholeheartedly give for either of their actions.

“Aye,” he said after a few moments. “The claim still holds.”

“I see.”

Bilbo looked back the contract, continuing to read as if such news did not bother her, and mumbled a question while the Dwarrow sat in silence.

“Wait. That's it? She's not angry anymore?” Kíli looked at Fíli, but it was Bilbo who answered.

“I am angry. In fact, I'm more than angry.” Kíli flinched at having been overheard. “But what I feel does not matter. I am here on behalf of my kin. I move and speak on behalf of my people. There is no time for the thoughts and feelings of a singular being when you represent the whole of a people.”

“Well said,” Thranduil approved, a rare smile just barely touching at the corner of his lips. “I hope the Princes here today learn from the example of a composed Princess such as yourself.”

Legolas sighed next to his father while the red-haired guard at his back snickered quietly into her fist.

“Aye. She is sensible. More than that, however,” the Thain began, voice dipping low as he grew serious, “she is a tactician on par with the one who raised her. There were many reasons I required you to get her before I would agree to anything. Her mind for maps, numbers, and words was one of the greatest of them.”

Bilbo snorted in reply, setting the contract down with a nod at Balin. “The contract is straight to the point, reasonable, and allows us a fair amount of flexibility. I will not be signing it.”

“What? But–” Bilbo cut Thorin off without acknowledging him having spoken.

“I will sign no contract between my people and your own until I have answers,” she declared, gaze locked on Thorin. “First, I would like to discuss a little Hobbit history.”

“Bilbo–” The Thain was similarly ignored.

“Hobbits once lived in a place called the Shire, but it was destroyed by Orcs and Goblins. Thirty years later those who survived the journey came upon a land that smelled of rot and sickness. This land, at the base of Erebor, was given to the Hobbits when they put forth a contract with King Thror stating that they would heal the land and make it fertile once more in return for protection and trading rights within the local markets. The King agreed, and the contract was upheld. This was so for the first fifty years.”

The girl leaned back, elbow thumping on the arm of her chair while her legs curled beneath her. As she rested a smooth cheek upon her knuckles, Bilbo smiled in a way that made Dís wish to reach for her a weapon.

“Do you know what happened after the first fifty passed? King Thror, your grandfather, began to spiral rapidly into madness. That madness was directed at my ancestors for the next fifty years. Directed at my _kin_. Some of which are still alive.”

“You must–”

“Be patient, Mountain King.” That smile was thin ice; dangerous and deceitful. “Allow me to finish.”

Thorin fell silent, but Dís could tell by the tension in his frame that it cost him not to defend their grandfather.

“For fifty years Hobbits were treated unfairly by King Thror. Small things came first. He lowered the number of market stands reserved for Hobbits, upped the amount of food we were to trade for less than adequate protection, and had Dwarven vendors raise their prices when Hobbits bought from them. If those Dwarrow refused, their licenses were revoked and they were banned from all Guilds. Many Dwarrow left Erebor in search of work because of this. The ones who stayed, either obeyed King Thor unwillingly, disobeyed in secret, or took his side in thinking Dwarrow products were worth more than the value of a Hobbit's coin.”

“Is..is that true?” Fíli's voice, brimming with confusion and sickening realization, seemed to soften the flinty gaze fixated on Thorin. Bilbo looked to her eldest son, a gentle smile on her face, before answering with a firm voice.

“You were born in Erebor fourteen years before Hobbits fled. Prince Kíli came five years later in the Blue Mountains. Between the two of you, I've been told by my mentor you spent less than a single year's time over the span of fourteen within the walls of Erebor.”

Shock and surprise shot through her nerves at the certainty in Bilbo's voice. She could not help but to wonder on this 'mentor' and how they knew so much about the workings of her family.

“Your parents kept you safe from King Thror by claiming royal responsibilities and traveling between the Iron Hills and Blue Mountains to make it more realistc. They used your birth as an excuse to escape without drawing attention. Then, they used Kíli's birth and ill health to avoid having to return to Erebor for several years.”

Fíli sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “To think you knew so much about me, but would not even tell me your name.”

“Information is power, Fíli,” Bilbo replied, a faint touch of amusement in her tone. “Remember that well.”

“But,” Kíli began, eyes looking in stunned disbelief between Fíli and Bilbo, “I don't remember ever hearing the Dwarrow of the Blue Mountain speak of unfair treatment.”

“That's because only Erebor treated Hobbits in such a way,” Bilbo explained. “The Iron Hills held Hobbits in the best light out of all other settlements due to their ability to grow food in such harsh conditions. The Blue Mountains, similarly, harbored strong friendships and was the quickest to accept Hobbits as spouses. Erebor, on the other hand, wanted the children without a legal union.”

Kíli choked in surprise. “What? Uncle!”

Thorin sighed, but nodded. “Aye. That is true. Some Hobbits did not mind not being married within the eyes of Dwarrow, because they chose to marry their partners in the way of Hobbits instead.”

“Correct.” Bilbo's smile was once again sharp. “ _Some_ did not mind. Many broke courtships after finding out Erebor would no longer allow official marriages between Hobbits and Dwarrow by order of King Thror. He had tried to revoke those married in the prior fifty years, but those Dwarrow whose spouses still lived fled the mountain with their children to make sure their families wouldn't be torn apart. In the end, King Thrór was unable to break those marriages. Instead, he focused on preventing future courtships.”

Dís clenched her jaw to avoid reacting to the twin disgusted looks worn by her children. She knew they weren't blaming her for the actions of her grandfather, but part of her still blamed herself for not being able to stop him.

“To put it simply, that was another way to try to oppress Hobbits. Still, my kin dug in their heels and focused on tending to the land as they tried to better their lives despite the growing cruelty of the King of Dwarrow. They struggled for equal treatment with their heads held high until King Thrór committed the final crime.

“He ordered all Hobbits with _magic_ to be separated from the _normal_ Hobbits. Those who he ordered taken were given three days to settle their affairs. Then, on the morning of the forth day since the announcement, they were to come of their own will to the mountain or be dragged there.”

“What did they do?” Kíli's voice was but a whisper in the tense silence stretching between Bilbo and Thorin.

“They planned to flee on the third night, but they received a warning from a secret messenger on the second evening revealing that King Thrór, using his authority as the King of Dwarrow, ordered the capture of Hobbits to begin in the middle of the night. All the settlements received a warning. So, once darkness began to fall, the Hobbits fled.”

Bilbo glanced at her grandfather who was staring at his clasped hands. She reached out to curl her fingers around his wrist, but returned a frigid gaze back to Thorin.

“What followed was the shattering of an alliance, trust, and a shared culture. Hobbits too old to run stayed behind to buy their kin some extra time. In a single night, the Hobbit settlements were no more. My people, once again, were a wandering race for the the third time in our history.”

Bilbo's sharp gaze slid from Thorin, to Frerin, and then herself before the lass spoke. “Thirty-four Hobbits stayed behind in Erebor. None were heard or seen from ever again. The same thing happened to the twenty-six Hobbits of the Iron Hills, and twenty-eight Hobbits of the Blue Mountains. As they were all over the age of ninety, it is impossible for them to be alive today. Still, I would like to know what happened to them.”

Dís tensed, glancing quickly to Nori to convey her worries, but the Spy-Master shook his head in answer. She sighed, relieved her concern wasn't necessary, and hid her surprise when Bilbo spoke.

“It is not that you do not wish to tell me,” she called, shifting so that both feet tapped lightly against the ground, “it is that you do not wish someone to hear.” Hobbitish fell from her lips before she or her brothers could respond.

The Men behind Bard, three of his most loyal guards who were all keen hunters with excellent senses, startled with a curse when a voice spoke back quietly in response from behind them.

A moment later, another voice piped up from Legolas' elbow. The Greenwood Prince did not flinch, but his eyes were wide in surprise in the same manner as the red-haired guard. Thranduil, however, continued drinking from his goblet as though unsurprised by the sudden appearance.

Dís wasn't sure what the two honey-haired Hobbit lads told Bilbo, but a gleam not unlike a predator on a scent flashed in her eyes as she grinned.

“I see. Thank you for your help. Continue to keep watch with the others,” she ordered.

The two bowed in sync, mischief dancing in their eyes, before seemingly disappearing where they stood.

“Mahal,” Kíli gasped, stunned at what he'd witnessed.

“Lady Yavanna, actually.” Gandalf sighed, eyes curious as they looked at Bilbo. “All Hobbits are born with natural talents that help to keep them hidden. It is why no Dwarf was able to find the Hobbits after they fled. The Stone will not betray the children of Lord Mahal's wife if they wish to remain undetected.”

“Quite right,” Bilbo agreed, expression gentle but eyes fierce. “At least one thing within Lord Mahal's domain knows how to remain loyal.”

Thain snorted while most of the Dwarrow flinched. Gandalf sighed in response to her words, but did not falter under the weight of her glinting eyes.

“You have Hobbits searching for someone,” he said, brow furrowed. “You sensed something during the last attack. Something we did not.”

“I did,” she admitted easily, stunning everyone but her grandfather. “But I will have answers before I involve myself and my people further. It is already too much to ask of a Hobbit to remain where evil lurks about.”

“You _sensed_ something?” Bard sounded surprised. “Well, I think giving you answers is a fair trade for any information on the Witch.”

“Oh. You misunderstand, King Bard. I will not trade answers for my observations,” she said, eyes bright with challenge as they once again looked to Thorin. “I will be getting answers because they are owed. The rest can be negotiated.”

Thranduil chuckled softly at her words, earning a glare from Thorin. “You are indeed a treasure, Little One.”

Fíli grumbled at the obvious fondness the Elvenking had for Bilbo, but a discreet kick from Víli kept the lad from opening his mouth.

“Thank you for such kind praise,” she responded politely, but did not turn her eyes from the one who held the answers she sought. “Your tent is secure. It has been since I arrived. So, speak plainly. What happened to the Hobbits who remained in the settlements?”

“They have died, but they did not die that night.” Thorin's words earned a hard look from the Thain.

“What the Stone King is not at all clearly saying, my dear, is that the Hobbits who we thought were murdered that night were actually hidden away.” The Thain's tone was enough to convey just how heavy his doubt was. “It was reported to King Thror the Hobbits all died in battle during the attempt to capture them, but this one claims they were all hidden for several weeks before being smuggled away from Erebor.”

Bilbo did not move, her expression did not waver, but Dís felt as though something inside the girl shifted at hearing such news.

Silence stretched on as Bilbo continued to stare at the wall of canvas above Thorin's head.

Just when Dís was about to speak in concern for the girl, her voice filled the silence.

“Very well,” she said, voice not revealing anything. “So, the Hobbits lived. What happened within the settlements, then? All showed signs of battle. Blood and drag marks were found when runners were sent back to investigate. The settlements themselves were all burned down.”

“All true,” Thorin agreed easily. Bilbo's eyes narrowed.

“You aren't surprised a few Hobbits returned.”

“No. Your kin claimed they would, and provided a plan to keep anyone from ever returning in search of them.” Thorin's voice had softened in his attempt to convey his honesty, but the lass was unmoved. He sighed before he continued. “The blood was from farm creatures abandoned during your escape. A specialized group in each settlement set everything up so that it looked like a battle occurred. In truth, they did fight, but a fire was started so that the smoke would help aide their escape.”

“And no Hobbits were harmed?”

“None. In Erebor, thirty-four Hobbits were safely evacuated without injury. In exchange for their safety, all forty Dwarrow from the specialized team suffered minor wounds. Four of those forty died that night.”

If she was surprised, Dís couldn't tell. Fíli, on the hand, must have sensed something from her. His expression had become too guarded for her to accurately tell, however.

“Why?”

“They fought against another group of Dwarrow who were sent in. Like you saw earlier, those Dwarrow were in the same condition.”

“It's a miracle more didn't die,” Bard murmured.

Bilbo shook her head in response. She hummed as she thought, wrapping an arm around her waist while raising the other to rest a sharp chin on a relaxed fist. Though she stared blankly at the desk in front of, there was a certain energy, still and ominous like a mist covered lake, around Bilbo that made Dís suddenly think of Fundin.

“You would have had to sent some of your most physically capable of warriors, ones who could be trusted with such a secret task, to have only lost four.”

Thorin mirrored her own frown. The wording was odd for a general statement, but was completely true in regards to what happened.

“Physically capable,” Bard echoed. “You mean hand-to-hand fighters?”

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed. “From what I observed just now, the possession takes over the body and mind. The downside to controlling one in such a way is the loss of learned skills. They will fight more like a drunken tavern brawler than a trained warrior. The upside, however, is that the ones possessed will have no fear of injury or death. The natural instincts all races have to withhold strength to avoid injury is gone. With the mind and body focused only on destruction, the muscle capability is two to three times greater than normal.”

Dís could only stare as Bilbo's eyes once again rose to meet Thorin's stunned expression. She smiled chillingly, eyes glinting like a swinging blade, when she spoke. “My second-in-command knows my movements well enough to tell where I was planning on striking once the Men were in range, so he struck before I could. Metal ball bearings thrown by a Hobbit as strong as Flambard at such a short distance can easily shatter bone. Possession is not necromancy. It requires a living host. Kill the host, and the attack will end.”

Bilbo was, of course, correct, but the speed in which she figured it out was staggering. She had realized something from witnessing a mere handful of minutes, a singular moment in the presence of such evil magic, that they had struggled for years to truly comprehend.

As she realized this, Dís became aware of the wide grin sitting smugly upon the Thain's face. He looked up, eyes dancing with merry mischief, and winked at her.

Dís could only huff in response.

“Clever,” Thorin murmured, eyes narrowed. “You figured that out rather quickly.” Dis despaired at the undertone of suspicion in her brother's tone. She loved him dearly, but Dís wished he wouldn't look at every surprise like it was something sent to kill him.

“Indeed. Amazing what one can accomplish when they don't have stone for brains,” she quipped, brow arching in obvious disapproval at his tone. Dwalin, standing at her back with a look of fond amusement, coughed into his fist to cover a bark of laughter. “So, four Dwarrow died defending the Hobbits against a group who was taken over by the Witch. What happened after?”

Thorin grumbled about the insult, but continued nonetheless. “The ones lost to the Witch, which numbered seventeen, were claimed in the official report to be part of the specialized group sent out. That allowed seventeen of the original forty to immediately go after the Hobbits to help keep them safe before escorting them to the place they remained until they died of old age.”

Bilbo glanced to her grandfather. He looked doubtful, but there was a hopeful shimmer in his eyes. Seeing it, the girl sighed.

“Very well. Let us say Dwarrow saved the Hobbits left behind. You then hid them all somewhere? So, you saved a total of eighty-eight Hobbits when the settlements of the Blue Mountains, Erebor, and Iron Hills held an estimated sixteen-thousand Hobbits combined.

“Though it is true the Hobbits with a Dwarf spouse willing to leave the mountain to stay with them and their children fled weeks to years before the actual attempted capture, those families fled far away from any Dwarf settlement. They've stayed hidden all these years to protect one another, but in my travels I have ran across a few Wild Hobbits, what we call those of our kin who do not live at or near a Hobbit village, and have gathered information from them.

“Based on the stories of my elders and what those few families I've met have said, around three thousand Hobbits and Dwobbits fled with their Dwarven spouse in search of safer lives where they could live freely with the ones they loved. Another thousand is estimated to have left to build a new settlement to the East. A thousand more Hobbits and Dwobbits, these being the families abandoned by their Dwarven kin by order of the Mad King, are still unaccounted for. They simply packed up and disappeared a decade or so before the rest fled. A final thousand left over the span of twenty years to travel Arda in search of home that would once again free Hobbits from any outside forces.”

Bilbo explained this all with a steady tone that rang with certainty and truth. When she began again, however, there was a trace of anger hiding within the soft tone.

“That being said, around ten thousand Hobbits were still living in the three settlements the night they fled everything they knew once King Thor's ordered betrayal was known. They split into large groups and went in every direction in hopes of finding a place to settle. Though it took many months, a land hidden well from others and untainted, despite the dark neighbors who often tried to invade, was finally found. Mistfield was established, and runners were sent out to find any Hobbits.”

She paused, eyes piercing as she stared Thorin down, and asked, “Do you know how many Hobbits and Dwobbits were left at the Erebor settlement at the time of the attack fifty years ago?”

Thorin frowned. “Maybe two thousand? Most had left Erebor for the reasons you mentioned, but some stayed due to love of home and an attachment to the Dwarrow living within Erebor.”

“Correct. Close to two thousand of the ten that fled lived at the Erebor settlement. Of that small number, how many would you say survived to make a home somewhere else?”

“Most of them,” Thorin answered with certainty.

“When runners were sent in search of the two thousand Hobbits that fled, only four hundred were found.” The silence in the tent was strangling, but Bilbo continued before any breath could be drawn. “A fifth of the Hobbits from Erebor survived. Only a few hundred remained of the thousands that thrived before the escape was made.”

“But...the other settlements?” Kíli looked as though he was going to be ill. Fíli, pale as moonstone, was not much better.

“Aye. We found some of them. A few hundred from each settlement managed to make their way to us, but most were lost to a harsh winter and walking evils. Entire search parties and groups went missing to never be found again. After a decade of searching, everyone was called back to Mistfield. Where ten thousand Hobbits had previously lived between three settlements, only two thousand were ever found and brought back.”

“But...that is–” Kíli made a helpless noise and fell silent.

“The groups found reported which of our kin died during their travels. Some fell to sickness, others to ailments, and many to attacks by Bandits, Goblins, and Orcs. Beasts took many from the Blue Mountain groups, as well. Faunts died from starvation, pregnant women from exhaustion and no longer having the desire to continue on after miscarrying, and many of our men from defending the others.”

“What about the other Hobbits? The ones who left freely before the others were forced to flee,” Fíli questioned, looking pained at the mention of children and women passing.

“Of the ones I've found? They have their own lives. You must understand that a thousand didn't just get up and leave. It started as a few families leaving. A month later another decided to follow, then another, and another after that. No more than thirty Hobbits ever traveled together as a group, but we band them together by the reason they left to keep track of the number overall. That doesn't mean they all went the same way. It only means certain ones left for the same reasons.”

“I see. So, those Hobbits aren't considered part of the ones who were forced to flee.”

“Correct. Those had all left of their own free will within fifty years of the rest. Mistfield only searched for the Hobbits misplaced by the sudden capture order by the Mad King, because _those_ Hobbits were the ones who were forced from their homes against their will.”

Fíli hesitated, looking between Thorin and Bilbo, before inquiring softly, “How many are still unaccounted for? The ones you have not been able to confirm the life or death of?”

Bilbo's jaw jumped, the first sign of the boiling rage beneath the surface, before she answered, “Just over seven thousand.”

Fíli sucked in a harsh breath, face stricken as his jaw worked soundlessly, but asked nothing else.

Bilbo kept her gaze on Thorin.

“In knowing that, of just how many Hobbits are lost to us, do you expect me to help you? Simply because you _claim_ to have saved over eighty Hobbits? To put my people in danger once again? By the very ones who nearly killed us off?”

“I could offer you something worth your aide.”

“Oh?” Her gaze seemed to _burn_ as she stared Thorin down. “And what would that be? What could you offer that is worth what we've lost? What we stand to lose as a people today?”

Dís held her breath knowing exactly what was coming. The secret she, her brothers, and her cousins had kept for fifty years was finally going to be revealed to the one who would decide the fate of the Hobbits.

The Thain, who had already heard the truth of what happened fifty years ago, had leaned forward as if in preparation for stopping Bilbo.

It did not give her hope for the Heir's reaction.

Dís sent a prayer to Mahal a moment before Thorin spoke.

“The location of the missing seven thousand Hobbits,” he began solemnly, “along with the near four thousand that settled in the land before the other seven were brought there.”

The air itself stilled as if waiting.

A ripple of _something_ shook through the stone.

Dís wasn't sure what it was, but it echoed with something ancient and powerful.

Whatever it may have been, it made the Wizards and the Elvenking straighten with a look of apprehension.

Kíli, not even trying to be subtle, jerked his booted feet from the ground to avoid seeing whatever caused him to shiver in fear.

Fíli, with a look of stubbornness and determination, kept both feet firmly planted.

As the ripple faded, echoing in the deep stone like a fading heartbeat, Bilbo finally spoke.

“What,” she hissed, blank expression slowly beginning to bleed with an anger far too deep for one so young to know how to handle.

“Your people have been kept hidden and safe by Dwarrow from the Blue Mountains, Erebor, and Iron Hills,” Thorin explained, voice and body steady in face of her growing anger. “Though we had hoped to move all Hobbits, King Thrór, or rather the Witch who was possessing him, somehow found out about our secret plan to relocate your people. She, using his body, ordered the capture of _magic_ Hobbits. We had no time to prepare, but we tried what we could.”

Bilbo stared, anger and disbelief flashing quickly in her eyes, but kept her jaw locked against any reply.

“I'm sure you remember all Dwarrow being called back to the mountain at the time of the attack,” Thorin said to the Thain.

“Aye,” he answered, apprehensive gaze never leaving Bilbo. “I've told Bilbo about them. How they were called in to try and box the Hobbits from any chance of escape.”

“That's what was officially reported, yes,” Thorin explained. “In truth, they were sent by myself, my siblings, and the current Lords of the Blue Mountains and Iron Hills. They rushed to reach as many Hobbits as they could to bring them safely to the secured area.”

“And they just went with the very Dwarrow they believed were sent to capture them?” Her disbelief was clearly heard.

“Well, Hobbits from the new settlement traveled with the Dwarrow to confirm their claims. I have no doubt they would have fled from the Dwarrow otherwise.”

“You expect me to believe this?”

Thorin met her stubborn gaze with his one. “It is the truth. You may write to them to confirm.”

Bilbo fell silent, eyes spitting fire as she thought through such unexpected news.

“How did you hide them,” she asked suddenly. “My kin looked for ten years before giving up. They never found them.”

“They are hidden by a false hill built by Dwarrow of the Iron Hills with the help of Hobbit and Wizard magic,” he explained easily. “The hill is just outside the territory belonging to the Iron Hills. The three thousand Hobbits and Dwobbits you mentioned who fled with their Dwarven spouses began settling there first. We originally built the hidden city for them, so that the families wouldn't be torn apart. Some wished to live elsewhere, but nearly all chose to stay. It was the only way we royals could keep those families from being separated. We would never wish such heartache on any Dwarf.”

A bark of Hobbitish ripped through the air in the same moment Bilbo moved.

The Thain had lunged forward just as she stood. One arm wrapped around Bilbo's middle while the other rose so that an aged hand could cover her eyes.

She immediately stilled, but the sheer force her hands created when both slammed atop the table crushed the wood beneath, causing the scrolls and journals to scatter across the ground as the table itself fell apart.

Dís held her breath, eyes wide in shock at the clear display of Ri strength, and beat down the urge to flinch away from the strange impression the stone conveyed beneath her boots.

The Thain continued to speak quickly and quietly in Hobbitish to Bilbo.

The lass didn't move since he'd touched her, but the stone around her was warning of danger ahead in the same manner it would for unstable rock ready to slide in and trap you in darkness.

“Do you expect me to believe that? It's been fifty years. Why wouldn't any of our kin contact us?” Bilbo's voice was fire and ice. It condemned in the same breath it accused.

“The Witch has been hunting for your kin. Your settlement had been safely hidden, but it was revealed when my grandfather broke free from madness that she had an idea where you might be. It wasn't until last year that she found your location. From that point, Gandalf helped us to find your people after we explained the situation.”

Thain grumbled darkly at that, but did not move an inch from his granddaughter. Bilbo, surprisingly, also remained completely still despite the hand covering her eyes.

Dís couldn't help but to wonder why Gerontius chose to do such a thing, but knew he must have a good reason. She wasn't sure if she wished to know it, however.

“And so they did not reach out for our safety? Was that based on your suggestion?”

“They are many and safely guarded by weapons and warriors,” he pointed out. “You number less than a thousand, and do not have many trained warriors among you. You were alone without aide. It would have meant death to you all if anyone started looking while so little was still known about the Witch, and King Thrór was under her control.”

Once again, Bilbo fell silent.

She shifted ever so slightly and the elderly Hobbit at her side pulled away to fall back into his chair with a tired sigh.

Dís watched, confused and worried, as the girl turned and began walking towards the entrance.

“Near the Iron Hills, you say? At the border,” she called back, but didn't turn.

“Aye. Near a stream with no name and surrounded by trees with red leaves and dark branches. The grass found there is more yellow than green, and stands like blades rather than folding with the wind,” Thorin answered, confusion upon his face. “You cannot think to go check _now_.”

But Bilbo did not answer.

She stepped out of the tent, Dwalin a fierce protector at her back, and disappeared from view.

The Thain sighed.

“You should not have said it like that. I told you that I should be the one to give her the news.”

“It makes no difference how I say it. She would have taken it badly,” Thorin grumbled.

“Wait,” Kíli said, shock in his voice. “Her kin is alive?”

“Aye.”

“But...I thought...”

“Many thought they died after escaping us. That needed to be so that they would all be safe,” Dís explained. “That doesn't mean it was the right way to go about it, but it was the way we were instructed would be best.”

“Then, why is she upset?”

Fíli sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if in pain, and smiled grimly at Kíli saying, “The Thain is right. Thorin said it the wrong way.”

“I don't see how.”

Thranduil snorted with a disgusted twist to his lips. “You spoke of the _royals_ keeping the families together. Was it not her mother, the lover of a noble line and cousin to the royal family, who was forced into exile by the King himself while pregnant with the young Thain-Heir? Makes you wonder why her own mother, someone who was supposed to be beloved by the royal family, received such cruel treatment in comparison?”

Thorin grimaced, inclining his head in acknowledgment of his mistake. “Very well. I will speak with her more carefully, but she must come back. We have mush to discuss.”

“She'll return in a moment. She's sending someone to check on your claims,” the Thain explained.

“What? But that's months of travel to get there and back. We do not have that kind of t–”

Thorin fell silent when a shrill shriek boomed through the night air to echo throughout the camp. Loud and piercing enough to bellow through the grassy plains and reverberate through tall trees.

“It cannot be,” Gandalf gasped, eyes wide as he looked to the grinning Thain. “This is why you needed her here. More than any other reason, _that_ skill is why.”

“Aye,” Thain agreed, barely overheard as the shrill sound grew and the wind picked up. “The Dwarrow have been wrong about many things concerning Hobbits in the past. I am not surprised you'd be wrong about another thing.”

“Oh? And what would that be,” Thorin bellowed as he stood, bracing himself against the table as the tent began to shake. He went to say something else, but choked as the tent was suddenly ripped away by a single powerful gust.

Dís gasped, shock and awe rippling through her, as she gazed up at the beautiful beasts soaring overhead and dipping down low with powerful flaps of giant wings.

“Eagles,” Bard breathed, amazement clear in his voice.

“Aye. They came at her call,” Fíli said, gesturing calmly to a spot just outside the tent entrance where Bilbo stood, arms outstretched high overhead as Dwalin knelt at her side to better keep the wind from knocking her legs out from under her. A piercing cry tore from her mouth as they watched. An answering shriek came from the great beast dipping and twirling closest to her. “It seems the Hobbits of Mistfield have far greater allies than you thought, Uncle Thorin.”

Thorin, like the rest of them, could say nothing in response as they watched the birds, five in all, swiftly take off after one last deafening shriek.

As the wind settled and the camp calmed, everyone held their breath and did not dare to move even as the destruction left from the powerful wind created by the Eagles fell harmlessly around them.

All eyes were trained on Bilbo as she turned, silver hair and deep blue dress embroidered with shining silver dancing in the wind. Her expression, gentle as a warm welcome yet fierce as a marching warrior, shone clearly in the starlight.

“The Eagles will return here tomorrow night,” she called, voice heavy with command. “You have until then to convince me to offer my aide, King of Dwarrow.”

“And if they find nothing?”

Bilbo didn't hesitate.

“Then your life is mine to take.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -LoSF-
> 
> Though fury and rage rolled like thunder through her veins, echoing in her marrow to shake her bones, Bilbo did nothing in response to those feelings.
> 
> She wanted to rip the Dwarrow King's head from his neck, but that would not help her people.
> 
> She had planned with Flambard over many nights to call to the Eagles and Beorn once they were close enough for them to hear her request to aide, none of that planning mattered once she was separated.
> 
> The Eagles, after all, would only come for her.
> 
> She was the one who fought beside them in the past, and she was the one who saved the life of a precious egg that had been stolen by foul creatures of the likes to which she had never seen before.
> 
> With the knowledge of the Shadow Witch now existing, however, Bilbo couldn't deny the possibility of her being the one responsible for those strange, twisted creatures.
> 
> Bilbo hadn't planned on calling to them, but the Thain had begged her to.
> 
> Though he didn't trust the Dwarrow anymore than she did, he clung to the small bit of hope that some of his children may be alive and well in the hidden city.
> 
> So, Bilbo bowed to her Thain's command and called for aide.
> 
> They'd made a mess of camp on purpose for the treatment of the Hobbits, but obeyed her request with the promise to travel as quickly as they could.
> 
> And though Bilbo hoped they would find them, she also dreaded what that would mean for the Hobbits of Mistfield.
> 
> For the ones who struggled for survival, fought in the Goblin Wars for decades, and forged weapons to fight off Wargs and Orcs to protect their small territory.
> 
> It wasn't fair that her people suffered simply because Dwarrow decided they would be safer.
> 
> Her mother certainly would not have stood for such nonsense being uttered.
> 
> Her mother who, according to the Mountain King, should have been one of the ones offered sanctuary with her Dwarf lover.
> 
> Neither her mother or father ever mentioned anything that Thorin said, so Bilbo was certain they hadn't known.
> 
> Which meant Belladonna wasn't offered what she was due.
> 
> She was left to suffer.
> 
> To Fade.
> 
> All because of her Dwarven kin.
> 
> Once more, Bilbo felt hatred bubble angrily beneath her feet towards the Dwarrow.
> 
> Unsurprisingly, Mahal reached for her through her gift to try and offer comfort.
> 
> Bilbo sighed at feeling it.
> 
> Dwarrow, it would seem, could annoy her even without a physical body to do so.


	19. NINETEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy!

-LoSF-

Though fury and rage rolled like thunder through her veins, echoing in her marrow to shake her bones, Bilbo did nothing in response to those feelings.

She wanted to rip the Dwarrow King's head from his neck, but that would not help her people.

Though she had planned with Flambard over many nights to call to the Eagles and Beorn once they were close enough for them to hear her request for aide, none of that planning mattered once she was separated.

The Eagles, after all, would only come for her.

She was the one who fought beside them in the past, and she was the one who saved the life of a precious egg that had been stolen by foul creatures of the likes to which she had never seen before.

With the knowledge of the Shadow Witch now existing, however, Bilbo couldn't deny the possibility of her being the one responsible for those strange, twisted creatures.

Bilbo hadn't planned on calling to them, but the Thain had begged her to.

Though he didn't trust the Dwarrow anymore than she did, he clung to the small bit of hope that some of his children may be alive and well in the hidden city.

So, Bilbo bowed to her Thain's command and called for aide.

They'd made a mess of camp on purpose for the treatment of the Hobbits, but obeyed her request with the promise to travel as quickly as they could.

And though Bilbo hoped they would find them, she also dreaded what that would mean for the Hobbits of Mistfield.

For the ones who struggled for survival, fought Goblin Wars for decades, and forged weapons to fight off Wargs and Orcs.

It wasn't fair that her people suffered simply because Dwarrow decided they would be safer.

Her mother certainly would not have stood for such nonsense being uttered.

Her mother who, according to the Mountain King, _should_ have been one of the ones offered sanctuary with her Dwarf lover.

Neither her mother or father ever mentioned anything that Thorin said, so Bilbo was certain they hadn't known.

Which meant Belladonna wasn't offered what she was due.

She was left to suffer.

To _Fade_.

All because of her Dwarven kin.

Once more, Bilbo felt hatred bubble angrily beneath her feet towards the Dwarrow.

Unsurprisingly, Mahal reached for her through her Gift to try and offer comfort.

Bilbo sighed at feeling it.

Dwarrow, it would seem, could annoy her even without a physical body to do so.

“Try to stay calm, my dear,” Thain said quietly, sipping on tea that was provided while Dwarrow hurriedly restored the tent around them. “He doesn't know the pain we all suffered by being left in the dark. They know not what they caused.”

“I'll keep my head,” she said instead of arguing the second part of his statement. It mattered little to her if they knew or not. What _mattered_ was that her people, that her mother, had suffered great hardships in thinking their kin dead. Bilbo didn't even want to begin to think on how many died of heart-sickness from being unable to see their siblings or children again. Those separated from their true love slowly faded from the world, clinging on long enough to try and help their people survive, and lived a half-life until death finally took mercy on their shattered souls.

“I'd say it would be better to keep 'em fists, lass,” the guard at her back rumbled. “To be fair, tha' tongue of yers can deliver just as strong a blow. But at least it ain't breakin' furniture.”

Bilbo fought back a grin at Dwalin's remarks while her grandfather chuckled.

In the little she'd observed from him, Bilbo could easily see why Belladonna chose the steadfast Dwarf as a second father. The Dwarf was gruff, level-headed, and fiercely loyal. He'd yet to stop guarding her back since she entered the tent.

He hadn't so much as flinched when the Eagles appeared, and did not panic against the powerful gusts that sent Men, Dwarrow, and Elves to their knees in a mad scramble for a solid anchor.

Instead, he'd calmly dropped to a knee at her side and chose to act as an anchor for _her_ against the wind.

She hadn't needed one, but the considerate and selfless act sent a burst of warmth through her chest.

Dwalin, after all, had always been spoken of in loving tones by her mother. She'd been certain he would have never abandoned her or turned her away from Erebor. He would have believed her that night unlike Frerin.

Bilbo couldn't help but wonder how things would have turned out if Dwalin had been the one her mother went to her last night in Erebor.

Perhaps she'd not have grown to have such hatred for Frerin.

And perhaps she would have never met the one Dwarf she wished to kill with her own hands.

“Bilbo,” Gerontius mumbled softly, drawing her attention from the cup she'd been staring absently into. “Are you ready to continue?”

She dipped her chin in reply, reaching out to place her still seaming cup atop the new table in front of them. It had been brought in minutes before by Dwarrow who wore astounded expressions as they carted the broken one away.

Scribes hurried in a moment later to swifty organize the journals and scrolls scattered from both her actions and the wind. They hadn't seemed annoyed at the work, but Bilbo still apologized for any damages done to the products of their called Craft due to her momentarily loss of temper.

Surprisingly, _that_ was what garnered a reaction. The two Dams and two Dwarrow had paused, eyes blown wide in astonishment as they stared at her, and quickly stumbled over their words in their hurry to reassure her no offense was felt.

The four bolted not a moment later, leaving Bilbo reeling in confusion at their sudden departure. Balin and Dwalin had both responded to their actions with amusement, so she did not think she offended them.

Still, she planned on seeking them out later.

Despite her feelings towards the Royal Family, she had no desire to go around offending the youth of Erebor by making them think the products of their Craft were less than worthy of respect and gentle handling.

“Let us begin.” Balin once again stepped to her side when Thorin spoke. She ignored his presence, knowing he would not attempt to harm her or Gerontius, and focused instead on the Stone King. “So, you have sent your allies, the Eagles, to see if my claims are true. How do you wish to proceed with this meeting?”

Bilbo said nothing for a moment, thinking of everything she'd learned in the last hour.

There was nothing else she could ask about her people, but there was plenty that needed to be sorted out about what had brought them to this point.

“You say your Grandfather, the Crazed King, was under the possession of the Witch when he began to mistreat Hobbits,” she began. “How was this determined?”

“We suspected something was controlling Thrór when he suddenly began acting strangely. I had a spy observe him. It would be impossible to constantly shadow a Dwarven King, so there were many moments where he was left unobserved. Still, finally, after nearly twelve years after his odd behavior began, Thrór disappeared down a hidden passage in a hurry before the spy could be shaken off his trail. That passage led out of Erebor. No one had known about it at the time, as it is only ever known to the King for emergency use, and my spy followed him out of the mountain. It was there the first evidence of outside control was found.”

“The evidence?”

“King Thrór began breaking free of the possession and calling out, as if in fear, for someone to help him. He begged to be left alone, for Mahal to grant him strength to fight off the evil hold, and for the suffering of his kin to end. The spy was able to sense something evil within the stone with his stone sense, but didn't see anyone near. Thrór suddenly stopped praying to Mahal, and instead began to mock the weakness of the Line of Durin and the foolishness of Hobbits. He returned into the mountain, but the spy remained to look around the area. He found an odd marking hidden by thorny mountain flowers in front of where Thrór had fallen.”

Bilbo's brow furrowed as she concentrated on the presence of Mahal. His strength vibrated like a gentle heat through her bones to assure her of the truth in Thorin's words. As the one being called to, Mahal would have heard his child begging for mercy. Though, sadly, _something_ had kept him from being able to support his son.

Mahal was not a cruel Lord to his children, so Bilbo did not believe he would have allowed the King to suffer if he could prevent it.

The fact that even Lord Mahal was unable to reach for his child through the control of another only made Bilbo further believe what she sensed in the attack earlier to be true.

“What was the marking,” she asked after a pause.

Thorin gestured to Balin. The white-haired Dwarf dipped his chin before beginning to sort through a particular journal. He held it out a minute later.

Bilbo's stomach clenched.

She knew she hadn't been mistaken.

“We aren't sure what the symbol is,” Thorin said, voice an anchor against the sound of Yavanna's weeping echoing through her soul. “Part of the symbol looks Dwarven in nature, but we do not recognize the symbol as a whole.”

“I see,” she said, ignoring the narrowed gaze boring into her. A rumbled growl softy sounded through Dwalin's chest in warning to the growing suspicion on Thorin's face, but she didn't react to it. “And you believe the symbol has something to do with the control?”

“Aye,” Thorin nodded, glancing over at Frerin a moment before quickly looking away. “Similar markings were found within the mountain in areas where the King spent most of his time. None were as elaborate or as large as that one.”

Bilbo kept her anger in check before glancing at Frerin. He was watching her, as he had taken to doing since the beginning of the meeting, and did not react when her eyes met his.

“You have witnessed something yourself to make you believe the symbols were responsible for his control,” she stated rather than asked. It was obvious by Thorin's earlier expression the bastard knew something.

“Aye,” he confirmed, voice steady when she would have preferred to hear it shaken. Even though Bungo had asked her not to harshly judge Frerin until she knew the entire story, the side Belladonna hadn't shared with _anyone_ , the deep resentment she felt towards the Dwarf for causing her mother to suffer wasn't going to simply ease. Not even at Bungo's request.

“What did you witness?”

“We set up a situation where King Thrór was required to leave the mountain unexpectedly. After a few days, he began to return to himself. He was dazed and seemed to think he was dreaming, but he was returning.”

“Something stopped his recovery.” That's what had to have happened. If they removed Thrór from the mountain to escape the symbols suspected of influencing him, he would have mostly recovered his mind. Only something appearing to prevent it would halt his mind from healing.

Frerin nodded, grimacing slightly at a memory. “Several Dwarrow traveling with us began to act off. The next day, Thrór was slipping back into madness. He demanded to be taken back to the mountain, threatened everyone there, and even pulled a sword out on a young Healer who tried to bring him a calming drought. Had Fundin not been there, the lad would have been killed.”

Bilbo's mind stumbled a moment at hearing the name. She _knew_ that name somehow, but she wasn't sure from where she'd heard it. Neither Belladonna or Bungo mentioned it, nor had Gerontius, but she was certain someone said that name to her.

And though she couldn't recall exactly where or when she heard it, a sudden sense of pain and fear made her stop reaching for the memory.

She would think on it later, but for now she needed a clear head.

Not one struck with fear.

“The Dwarrow acting odd?”

“They were pulled from camp after becoming increasingly violent. They tried to attack Lord Dori and myself, but we subdued them,” he explained, eyes sharp as a hawk's as he watched her for any reaction at hearing her sire's name. Bilbo, well practiced in such surprise tactics, refused to give a single hint at what she truly felt. “They both convulsed and choked on their own blood moments later. They were dead within seconds. While investigating their bodies, a Healer found markings not unlike those in the mountain carved into their skin.”

“I see. So, someone deliberately carved the symbols controlling the King into the Dwarrow who would be near him,” she murmured, brow slightly furrowed as she hummed. “That makes sense.”

“ _What_ makes sense?” The Dwarrow King once again looked suspicious.

“In time,” Bilbo replied, not caring if he was angered for her easy dismissal of such an important matter. “I understand you have evidence of control. When did he break free from it?”

“Thirty years ago. He broke free of the control after an attempt to retake Moria failed. It was on that battlefield, his mind his own for the first time in decades, that he told us whoever controlled him was looking for Hobbits from Erebor. He, having been left in the dark about the Hobbits, had no idea where any were. Which meant neither did the Witch. After the battle, the crown was passed to our father, Thrain, who recently passed it to me.”

Bilbo's eyes narrowed on Thorin. “How recently?”

Looking confused, the King of Erebor answered, “Seven months ago.”

Looking entirely unimpressed, Bilbo closed her eyes for a moment to take a steadying breath. “I see. So, you are acting out the last orders of the previous King of Dwarrow.” Thorin nodded in answer. “And he decided we needed to be captured in the way of slave traders?” The Dwarrow flinched, but Bilbo cared little for their hurt feelings. “He couldn't think of a better way to approach us? I fear for the state of Erebor's politics if his capacity for thought is so little.”

Thorin scowled, dark brow furrowed together like a thundercloud, before growling out, “My father had no choice. We had to make it look like you were being captured rather than rescued.”

Bilbo set a baleful look upon the angered King. “Oh? So, you're trying to make _someone_ think we are being forced back to Erebor. I'd wager that someone is the Witch. Which means she still has influence within Erebor.”

Thorin's stony silence was answer enough.

“Have you lot done _nothing_ to try and shatter her foothold in your _home_? Or, like you did with the escaped Hobbits, just handle the situation disastrously?”

“We've tried doing a cleansing,” came the petulant reply. “Gandalf put a blessing on the Royal Line to warn off dark magic, while Radagast blessed Erebor to prevent such magic drawings from holding power within the stone ever again.”

“And yet the Witch is still haunting Erebor.”

“Aye. She found another way to attack. Within three years, our population began to suffer from a quiet war inside our halls between radicals against any Dwarf not born in Erebor and those who traveled from elsewhere to make their home.”

Bilbo snorted. “I take it the radicals were ones being influenced by the Witch?”

“Aye,” Thorin said with a frown. “Gandalf returned and confirmed something was not right with their minds. They seemed to be suffering from a mental illness causing a distortion of the reality around them. Senses and memories couldn't be trusted in those under the influence.”

Bilbo nodded in understanding. She'd witnessed such disconnections with reality in Men. They were considered diseased of the mind and abandoned by their own villages for their ill behavior. It sounded similar to what the influenced Dwarrow went through. Like the Men, she doubted those Dwarrow ever recovered full control over their minds.

“So, these radical Dwarrow started a civil war? To what? What was the purpose? To weaken Erebor's power?” It still didn't explain why the Hobbits were needed in Erebor, but Bilbo was beginning to get an idea of just what the Dwarrow wanted. If she was right in her thinking, she may have no choice but to help them to keep her kin safe later on.

“Something like that,” Thorin agreed, tapping lightly at the table in front of him. “It was a way to cause chaos while the Witch tried out new methods to take control of the King. Her most recent attempts are what has created possession like the Bandits. That particular brand of dark magic started appearing ten years ago. At first an individual may seem normal, but once the Witch takes full control there is no hiding her tainted touch.”

“I see. And how did Hobbits get involved in this mess? We've been gone from the mountains for fifty years. For what reason does the Witch want Hobbits who once lived in Erebor?” Bilbo kept her question light, but in truth she knew in her bones why the Witch wanted Hobbits.

Thorin grimaced, saying nothing in answer.

Frerin, surprisingly, was the one to speak after a moment.

“We do not know the exact reason, but three years ago the Dwarrow suffering from possession began ranting that Hobbits were the reason Erebor was cursed with the hauntings and madness. They claimed that Mahal was punishing them because the Line of Durin betrayed the children of his beloved wife, so they would suffer until Hobbits were brought back to the mountain to be bestowed all honors and lavished upon as a show of regret and apology.”

Bilbo stared at Frerin, shoving down the bitter anger to focus on what was important. She hummed in thought, playing his words over again before speaking.

“In saying so, they both condemned my kin to being dragged back to the mountain and the Line of Durin into _having_ to search for us in order to avoid further ire from the swayed Dwarrow. Had you refused to search for us, I have no doubt your war would have turned much worse.”

Thorin sighed loudly, drawing her attention back to him. He didn't seem relieved at her having figured out the hidden meaning. In fact, he seemed pained.

“We would have left you and your kin alone until the Witch was gone for good, but Gandalf believed she wouldn't stop until those who fled Erebor were found. While most of your people were safe, the Hobbits of Mistfield were not.”

Bilbo fell silent as she thought. She was almost certain she knew _what_ the Witch was, but the who was a complete mystery. Whoever she was, she was dangerous and nearly as mad as the ones she ruthlessly took over.

One thing was for certain, the Witch was determined to capture Hobbits.

And, in hearing about the way the Witch singled out the Durins inn an attempt to either get them killed or thrown from Erebor, Bilbo didn't doubt the Witch was trying to establish a greater range of control over all of Erebor.

Something told Bilbo the Witch wouldn't stop there.

Which was most likely the reason for such a large alliance.

“Very well,” she said, dipping her chin to end that line of discussion. “You chained us in order to make it look like we were being forced back rather than invited back with the promise of an alliance. Still, I am certain there is a better alternative. My kin did not need to be bound as they were. They were no threat to an army of Dwarrow and Men. Nor to the Elves who came once the camp was built.”

Frerin snorted. “Perhaps not your kin, but _you_ were dangerous. Even if we had decided to not chain the Hobbits as a whole, I can't say I wouldn't have ordered your hands and feet bound once again.”

Bilbo bodily flinched away from the Thain the moment the words left Frerin's mouth.

She glanced, eyes wide and helpless, at a quickly paling Fíli who ducked down as the Thain stood with a roar, shaking his fist at Frerin.

“You dare to touch a Hobbit's feet?! An _underage woman's_ at that?!”

It was Frerin's turn to flinch back. He seemed as startled as all the other Dwarrow and Men at the biting rage in the Thain's hissing tone.

Only the Wizards and Thranduil seemed to understand what was wrong.

They each sighed in response to Frerin's startled reply.

“Well, she was being violent. It was safest to shackle her ankles and–”

“Soft-footed bastard!” Thain smacked the table repeatedly, still waving an arm towards Frerin in anger. “I should claim your beard for such an offense!”

Frerin spluttered as Bilbo rubbed at her forehead, willing the blush she felt warming her cheeks to go away.

“Offense? I offered no offense! She tried to kill me!”

As her grandfather resorted to yelling in Hobbitish, Bilbo peeked at Fíli and blushed all the harder at his apologetic shrug and bashful grin.

Unfortunately, the Thain saw the interaction.

“ _YOU_!” His roar no doubt was heard throughout the camp. “It was you who committed such a grave offense!”

“Grandfather, he had no way of knowing,” she replied firmly, trying desperately to not react to the growing grin on Kíli's face as he looked between his startled brother and the blush winning the fight over her will to remain. “He hadn't known until I told him when we fell from the mountain pass.”

“No excuse,” he snarled. “Get down here, boy! Prince or not, I'll teach you to mess with a Took's little girl!”

“Oh, Yavanna,” Bilbo groaned, reaching out to snag the Thain as he went to march by her in his attempt to get at a stuttering Dwarven prince. “Grandfather, enough. He's apologized and has vowed to properly atone through Hobbit ways when I refused to let him cut a braid as an offering of forgiveness.”

Dís gasped at the news in the same moment Víli shot a heated look towards Frerin. Luckily, the Dwarf looked just as confused by what was going on. Bilbo didn't doubt Víli would pummel the prince if he thought Fíli had purposefully been used to cause any form of offense.

“As he should! Touching a woman's feet. What nerve. Not even courting!”

Both Fíli and Bilbo blushed, carefully not looking at each other, as Kíli began to cackle at his brother's situation.

“A Hobbits feet?” Thorin wore a deep frown, but it was one of bewilderment rather than anger.

“Enough,” Bilbo said firmly, pushing her Gerontius back into his seat when he looked as though he wished to lecture them all. “We have other matters to discuss. Ones of _actual_ importance.”

“Fine,” he muttered, eyes wrathful as they narrowed at a stunned Fíli. “But I _will_ be discussing this.”

Bilbo rolled her eyes, muttering a prayer for patience and strength to Yavanna and Mahal, who both were laughing uproariously at her plight.

She looked to Thorin, eyes ordering him to continue _quickly_. His lips twitched as if fighting down a laugh, but he continued as she wished.

“Right. We may be able to find another option,” he said slowly, a barely hidden twinkle in his eyes as she scowled at him.

“We _will_ find another option. If the point was to stop anyone from knowing the truth, it matters little now. The Witch has already shown herself here. That means she knows things aren't as they originally appeared.”

“True,” Thorin agreed. “We will discuss more on it later.”

“Yes, we will,” Bilbo said firmly, eyeing her grumbling grandfather with fond exasperation. “I imagine the reason my caravan was kept in the dark, along with the Hobbits here, was to avoid a possible leak reaching the Witch.”

“Aye.”

“Well, I believe she suspected from the start. The Men sent from the Lake, as I'm sure you noticed, were not of their right minds when they attacked. Certainly they weren't decent Men before, but they'd have thought twice before attacking anyone knowing death would surely come moments later.”

Thorin frowned, all traces of amusement fading from his face. “You think they were possessed?”

“Possessed or influenced to a lesser degree than the Bandits, but still driven to madness by something evil.”

“I see. The Dwarrow who checked the bodies of the Men you killed did not seem to have any signs of control on them, but Frerin had stated himself that they seemed to be driven mad.”

Bilbo sighed, leaning back against the chair with a nod. “You said the Witch was learning to control in different ways. Perhaps this was more of an overpowering influence, something that bolstered an already dark desire, rather than full control. I believe her goal in that situation was to simply shake or completely destroy any chance at an alliance.”

It was a rather good plan on the twisted mastermind's part, but it hadn't been necessary. The Hobbits knew they were outnumbered and out powered with only a handful of them knowing how to fight with the use of their Gifts, so they stayed politely civil with those who didn't seek to harm them.

Civility, however, does not equal trust or friendship.

The Witch had no reason to worry about the Hobbits forming strong bonds on their journey to the camp.

They knew not to trust easily from past experiences with Dwarrow.

“It would make sense,” Bard said after a moment of thought. “The Thain had already made it known only the Thain-Heir could say yes or no to an alliance. Had something happened on her journey here to meet with the Thain, she would have refused without hearing us out.”

“Aye. And then we would have had no choice but to drag you back to the mountain to keep you safe from the Witch,” Thorin muttered.

Bilbo grinned viciously. “You could have tried. Had I not been separated from my kin, I'd already planned on calling for aide from my allies in this valley. The Eagles and the Bear would have torn you apart if I asked them to help my kin escape.”

At her words, Thorin suddenly stiffened and slowly turned agitated eyes to a wide-eyed Wizard.

“A bear?”

Thorin didn't sound surprised.

Bilbo's gut suddenly turned.

Slanting angry eyes to Gandalf, Bilbo slowly stood to carefully place her hands on the table. She leaned forward, body tensed as if ready to lunge towards a threat, and grinned at the Gray Wizard.

“He doesn't sound surprised,” she said calmly. “Why is that?”

“Ah,” Gandalf coughed, turning to look at the Brown Wizard only to find him hurrying towards the exit.

“Gandalf,” Gerontius growled from her side. “You best not have done anything to him. He's been a friend to us Hobbits for fifty years, and Bilbo is fiercely protective of him.”

“Of a bear,” Kíli whispered, sounding surprised.

“He's not just a bear,” Bilbo said, eyes narrowing on Thorin. “Where is he? Do not make me rip apart the camp in search of him.”

The Mountain King sighed. “He's being held just within the boundaries of the woods. He's trapped within a magic circle made by Gandalf and Radagast, and bound with Elven rope to prevent him from easily shattering through.”

“What?” She jolted, startling Balin at her side, and turned for the entrance. “Blasted, insufferable Dwarrow. Can't even leave the wildlife alone. Stone-brained fools.” Her eyes moved to Dwalin in silent plea as she walked.

He sighed, but bowed his head in answer before stepping in front of her.

She heard a few hurry after her to follow, but didn't turn to see who quickly moved to guard her back as the others waited in the tent.

Dwalin moved with purpose through the camp, not stopping and glaring at anyone who attempted to approach.

They were soon next to the trees, and Bilbo could hear the angry huffing of an agitated beast.

As they approached, she heard Radagast talking quickly to Beorn, telling him that someone had managed to scare some sense into Gandalf and Thorin.

Bilbo was thankful to have overheard the conversation.

Now she knew exactly who she needed to bloody up on behalf of her claimed kin.

A growl from a bear answered Radagast, but Bilbo could tell he still hadn't shifted.

She realized why once she reached the large space clear of trees where they kept her friend contained.

Beorn in his bear form was easily twice the height of the tallest Elf in camp. Thick muscle rippled under heavy fur the color of rich soil. Paws twice the size of her head held his massive weight up, while snapping jaws with teeth as long as her forearm barred at enemies and grinned at friends.

He was in no way small in either form.

The circle he was contained in, however, did not offer room for a transformation.

Bilbo's lips curled in distaste.

“We can't let him go!” A Man leaning against a nearby tree suddenly stepped towards Radagast. “That beast tried to kill us!”

“You invaded his territory. He had every right to,” Radgast huffed before once again speaking quietly to Beorn in attempt to get him to change back.

Beorn growled angrily when the Man continued to argue.

With a snarl of his own, the Man raised a heavy stick as if to smash it against the back of Beorn's head.

Had her friend been untied, he would have ripped the arm off the Man.

Seeing as he was tightly bound by unbreakable rope, Beorn could only glare as the stick fell towards him.

Bilbo didn't even spare a moment to think.

She reached out, snagged a dagger off Dwalin, and tossed it in one fluid motion.

It struck the middle of the branch with enough force to shatter it.

Unbalanced by the sudden change in weight he held, the Man stumbled back with a startled cry. He landed hard on his rump with a curse, but stopped whatever smart remark he'd nearly said when faced with Dwalin's severe scowl.

Yelping in fright, the Man hurried to stand and gave a bow with a stuttered apology.

“Save it,” Dwalin growled. “Get yer ass back to camp. I'll be tellin' Bard 'bout this.”

The Man hurried off with a thunderous expression, but said nothing in response.

Sighing tiredly, Dwalin walked several paces ahead to collect his dagger that had buried itself into a large tree.

“Good arm,” he muttered, pride and approval coloring his tone.

Bilbo offered a small smile in response, eyes roaming the clearing, and moved to where a small tent big enough for one Man was set up.

She ripped away the canvas with little care for what else was inside, and turned back to look into the golden eyes of one of her dearest friends.

“Peace, Beorn,” she said softly, dropping in front of the great bear with a smile. “I'm going to get you out of here.”

She turned her eyes to Radagast who huffed.

“The circle would break if he'd just turn back into a Man,” he explained. “I hate that he's in there. Gandalf wouldn't trust that he wouldn't kill anyone.”

Bilbo stared at the Brown Wizard, expression conveying every ounce of agitation she felt. “Shatter his spell.”

“He only needs to change back into his other skin,” he said again.

“Oh?” Bilbo waved a hand over Beorn's tied form that was surrounded by a bubble just big enough to fully cover him. “Exactly _how_ is he supposed to change into his other skin in such conditions? He has no room to even _move_ let alone change back. He'd break his neck trying to in that position.”

Radagast blinked in surprise a moment before hurriedly moving forward, waving his staff around, muttering a spell under his breath.

“Wizards,” Bilbo huffed, reaching out to place her hand on the shield in front of Beorn's skull. “Do not worry. I am here for you.”

A muttered breath behind her followed by a thump and a curse informed Bilbo that Frerin and Víli had followed at her back.

They said nothing else as the shield shattered, but Bilbo could sense how they tensed at the _beast_ no longer being contained.

Bilbo didn't hesitate to bury her fingers in Beorn's fur.

Dwalin had stepped forward the moment the shield fell to begin unwinding the thick Elven rope.

Beorn held still, breathing calmly with golden eyes locked on her form in front of his snout, and grunted when the last of the ropes were pulled away.

Standing carefully, Bilbo shifted to the side to toss the canvas over Beorn's back just as the sound of bones snapping echoed in the woods.

It was followed by the sound of flesh tearing as the giant form beneath the canvas began to shrink.

Bilbo moved to the front of the canvas, once again standing steadily before her friend, and reached both hands up to hold the half-bear and half-man overhead.

Golden eyes turned honey-brown as the final bone snapped and shrank beneath her palms to turn into the familiar rugged face of the Skin-changer she cared dearly for.

He sighed, resting his large head against her much smaller one for a moment, before leaning slightly back to begin adjusting the canvas around his hips.

Dwalin stepped forward to offer him Elven rope to tie it down with, but Beorn only glanced at him before taking the rope with a shrug.

“You've been injured, eyas. I smell Orc, Dwarf, and Man upon you. I'd have you tell me which has spilled your blood, so that I may gift you their skins.”

Bilbo smiled brightly with a delighted laugh, stretching up on her toes just as Beorn swooped down to pluck her off the ground.

He held her carefully against his bare chest, rumbling in relief at having her in the safety of his arms.

Frerin and Radagast both began to say something, but he spoke right over them.

“I see that something has happened, eyas. I would hear it from you while I check that wound on your shoulder. Your kin have tended to it well, but I will see to it myself.”

Bilbo nodded obediently, not even trying to dislodge the large fingers gently wrapped around her, and pointed back towards camp.

“I'm in the middle of a meeting with the Mountain King,” she said, ignoring Frerin's grumblings. “I have a few things I still must discuss with him, but you are welcome to see my wounds after.”

Víli was the next one to grumble, but Beorn ignored them.

Instead, he turned bright eyes on Dwalin and offered a feral grin.

“My eyas seems to like you,” he said simply, grinning wider when Dwalin's eyes softened and she huffed against his chest. “Lead the way.”

Dwalin did so, stepping around the sputtering Dwarven Royalty to begin the short trek back to camp.

Frerin and Víli followed quickly, but quietly argued between themselves while Radagast hurried them all along.

The trip was much easier with Beorn by her side.

Dwarrow, Men, and Elves practically dove out of the path to avoid being under Beorn's wrathful eyes.

Bilbo had little doubt many of the members of the army had offended him by trespassing on his lands.

She doubted they had hunted, though.

Even if Radagast was outvoted when it came to keeping Beorn tied, no one who knew of magic and Skin-changers would risk a curse falling upon them from killing on sacred land.

Within minutes Dwalin was pushing aside the canvas and gesturing Beorn inside.

The Skin-changer had to duck in order to enter, but did so without complaint and never once jostled her.

“Ah. Beorn!” Gandalf's cheerful voice was met with a fierce growl. “Now, don't be like that. I told you that you may join us if you promised to remain in the skin of a Man.”

Bilbo, right along with Beorn, let their eyes convey just how they felt about such nonsese.

Still, Beorn said nothing since his attention was caught by an amused Thain.

Bilbo huffed as she was carefully sat down beside her grandfather, rolling her eyes when Beorn rumbled an apology for not being able to protect the Hobbits, and reached out to place a comforting hand on his knee when he knelt.

A ripple through the stone had her glancing up just as Fíli turned his face away.

She blinked in confusion at the odd, heavy feeling that he'd released.

Though she wasn't sure what exactly it was or why he felt it, Bilbo knew she didn't want him to feel whatever it was.

Above her, Beorn suddenly snorted with a curious grin.

“ _Ah! I see you've finally chosen your mate, eyas. I look forward to seeing your clutch of hatchlings in a few years!_ ”

Bilbo stuttered, head shaking rapidly while her face _burned_ as if with fever.

Thain choked on his tea before berating Beorn in the Language of Hobbits for even suggesting children between the two so soon.

Groaning, Bilbo moved to retake her seat while glaring at them both.

“Beorn will be attending the rest of this meeting with me,” she announced tiredly, voice raised slightly to drown out Beorn and Gerontius' bickering.

Thorin frowned when Frerin mumbled something in his ear as he passed him to retake his own seat.

“And what right does a Skin-changer have here? This is between the leaders present. Beorn need not be involved.”

The Skin-changer in questioned snorted, grin a touch wild as he stared down the Mountain King. “Aye, I don't care much to be here. But my eyas is here. It's my job to keep her safe.”

“Is it now,” Thorin growled, challenge clear in his voice.

“It is,” Beorn said after a deep breath. His head tilted ever so slightly, sharp eyes slanting to where her sire, Dori of Ri, sat with his back still to the room. Bilbo was too afraid to check with the stone to see if he was awake or not. Beorn's voice, rumbling with the growl of a great beast, shared exactly how he felt towards the Head of the Ri Clan. “After all, Belladonna named me the little one's godfather before she died of heartsickness. None of you blood relations can claim to have cared for her more than I.”

Bilbo didn't dare look to anyone in the brittle silence that followed.

At the table of Royal Dwarrow, Dori slowly stood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for Next Chapter
> 
> Dori had learned many things from Belladonna despite their short time together.
> 
> He'd learned new ways to stitch, hundreds of new pie recipes, and even more tricks to making the perfect cup of tea for any occasion.
> 
> More than that, he'd learned to be bold when the situation called for it.
> 
> She taught him to stand firm when he'd rather cower, to hold his held high even if others tried to shame him, and to never shy away from harsh remarks earned for his actions.
> 
> Belladonna taught him about courage, strength, and honor.
> 
> With the Skin-changer's words ringing through the tent, Dori recalled the lessons she so fiercely taught him simply by living as an example.
> 
> Feeling her strength flow through him, her words of encouragement chasing away the harsh rebuke still echoing in his ears, Dori stood from his chair.
> 
> He'd been facing the wall, listening to Bilbo – his daughter – speak to Thorin, the King of Dwarrow, as though he were no more than an annoying stranger who asked far too many questions.
> 
> Dori's heart ached to hear such a familiar tone in a different voice.
> 
> Belladonna definitely lived within their daughter's challenging spirit.
> 
> He felt pride in knowing it.
> 
> And fear. So much fear.
> 
> Because Belladonna wasn't one to forgive easily. Her sharp tongue did not hesitate to cut into those who wronged her. And though Nori had been assuring him Bilbo didn't think badly of him, he was afraid to see anger directed at him for something he had no control over.
> 
> Dori hadn't known she existed until she appeared.
> 
> He hadn't known Belladonna visited Erebor her last night at the Hobbit settlement until Frerin told him.
> 
> And he hadn't known she fled until the next morning when he went to greet her only to find a city of ash and blood.
> 
> Nori had been his strength at that time.
> 
> Ori had became his courage to face the day.
> 
> Now, when faced with Beorn's anger, anger that existed for the sake of his daughter, Belladonna's presence was flowing through him to become both courage and strength for him in the way she always had.
> 
> Taking a single calming breath, Dori turned to face his daughter for the first time.


	20. TWENTY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is doing well. Warm wishes to you all!

-LoSF-

Dori had learned many things from Belladonna despite their short time together.

He'd learned new ways to stitch, hundreds of new pie recipes, and even more tricks to making the perfect cup of tea for any occasion.

More than that, he'd learned to be bold when the situation called for it.

She taught him to stand firm when he'd rather cower, to hold his held high even if others tried to shame him, and to never shy away from harsh remarks earned for his actions.

Belladonna taught him about courage, strength, and honor.

With the Skin-changer's words ringing through the tent, Dori recalled the lessons she so fiercely taught him simply by living as an example.

Feeling her strength flow through him, her words of encouragement chasing away the harsh rebuke still echoing in his ears, Dori stood from his chair.

He'd been facing the wall, listening to Bilbo – _his daughter_ – speak to Thorin, the King of Dwarrow, as though he were no more than an annoying stranger who asked far too many questions.

Dori's heart ached to hear such a familiar tone in a different voice.

Belladonna definitely lived within their daughter's challenging spirit.

He felt pride in knowing it.

And fear. So much fear.

Because Belladonna wasn't one to forgive easily. Her sharp tongue did not hesitate to cut into those who wronged her. And though Nori had been assuring him Bilbo didn't think badly of him, he was afraid to see anger directed at him for something he had no control over.

Dori hadn't known she existed until she appeared.

He hadn't known Belladonna visited Erebor her last night at the Hobbit settlement until Frerin told him.

And he hadn't known she fled until the next morning when he went to greet her only to find a city of ash and blood.

Nori had been his strength at that time.

Ori had became his courage to face the day.

Now, when faced with Beorn's anger, anger that existed for the sake of his daughter, Belladonna's presence was flowing through him to become both courage and strength for him in the way she always had.

Taking a single calming breath, Dori turned to face his daughter for the first time.

Air became smoke at the sight of the little lass – _his daughter!_ – sitting a few dozen steps out of reach. It left him struggling for breath and feeling faint once again, but he pulled on the strength and courage born from his love for Belladonna to stand proudly before the greatest gift left behind by the woman he loved.

Had Bilbo not said a word, Dori would have known who she was. Her lovely frame took too heavily after Belladonna to ever be mistaken for the child of another Hobbit, and the rare coloring like gleaming mithril was only known to the Clan of Ri.

There was no room for doubt or mistake. Bilbo was the beautiful, fierce, graceful, and loyal daughter he and Belladonna had dreamed of one day having together.

She was everything he'd admired in Belladonna, and everything his love had dreamed their daughter would grow into.

To him, though he did not yet know her, Bilbo was already everything to him.

And he had no right to her.

Not after being absent from her life for the last fifty years, and not after being too late to save her mother.

Gathering his courage, the very same courage that allowed him to stand before King Thrór every week and petition for the right to marry Belladonna despite the mockery and punishments it brought upon him as the Head of a Noble Clan, Dori caught and held silver eyes when they finally rose to meet him.

He wished to weep for the nervous, wary child he could see within the depths of those eyes, but it wasn't time for that. He'd already wasted enough time.

“My sincerest apologies and thanks, Master Beorn.” He bowed respectfully to the Skin-changer. “Any kin claimed by Lady Baggins is welcome here if she so wishes them to be. As her godfather, with Lady Baggins being underage, it is within your rights by Dwarven law to be present as her guiding council. I apologize on behalf of my King. He seems to have forgotten this due to the stress of the day.”

Both Thorin and Beorn grumbled, but he continued before either could say a word.

“Lady Bilbo Baggins,” he said formally, bowing so deeply his forehead nearly brushed the linen covering the table. “Dori, son of Bilri, at your service. Though you were born from the love between Belladonna and I, you live this day due to the guidance and care of others. I will never properly atone for missing fifty years of your life, and I will not force my person upon yourself anymore than I would force those you claim away from you. Though, if you would allow such a boon, I–”

Dori stopped, breath hitching when a small hand, far too small to be a Dwarf, gently landed on his head, fingers light as a brush of feathers against his braids.

He glanced up, eyes widening at the sight of Bilbo standing nervously in front of him, and tensed when she shook her head slightly.

“ **Do not misunderstand me** ,” she said, perfect Khuzdûl rolling with a distinct softness Dwarrow did not have from a smiling mouth. Frerin and Víli both cursed at hearing it, but Nori only snorted a laugh. “ **I am not turning you away, but I do not wish to have this conversation now. Not for all to hear**.” She turned slightly, pulling her hand back to grip at her skirts as she did so, and set a disapproving frown at the unapologetic Skin-changer. “ **We may discuss more in private later. My kindhearted Bear is only picking a fight because he's protective, and because he's still angry over our treatment. Both of us are aware you did not know of my existence, but he's been too thoroughly provoked by the foolishness of Wizards and arrogance of Men to acknowledge what he already knows to be true**.”

“I may not know what you're chirping about, but I have no doubt it's about me,” Beorn said, motioning to the seat Bilbo had vacated moments earlier. “Come, little eyas, and sit. I will behave myself for you, but only if you rest before your wounds reopen.”

Bilbo huffed, but obediently returned after a small, hesitant smile. Dori offered what he hoped was a kind one, and swallowed down all the words choking his throat in their need to be said.

She was right, after all. It was no time to have a reunion or offer explanations. It wasn't the time to find answers about Belladonna.

Now was the time to focus on the safety of the Hobbits.

And the safety of his Dwobbit daughter.

“You may stay,” Thorin grudgingly allowed. “But we must finish discussions for the night. The hour is growing later, and the injured need rest.” Though he glanced at his nephews when he said this, Dori noticed the discreet flicker towards Bilbo's shoulder.

“Agreed,” Bilbo answered, shifting the blue skirts as she carefully sat.

“Don't rush on our account!” Kíli enthusiastically swung his uninjured arm around. “Just sitting here is rest enough!”

“Aye, but she needs rest,” Dori reminded, thoughts going back to the exhausted state Dís had told him Bilbo had been in only a few hours earlier. “Lady Baggins has been taking care of your brother, and later you, while fighting off enemies. You've both rested and had your wounds heavily tended to by Elven magic, while she's slept barely a wink with less time for treatment.” He glanced to his daughter's straight posture on the wooden chair before looking at the way both princes were slouched against the rolled blankets and pillows stuffed around them, their wounds free of any stress. “And, if you haven't noticed, Lady Baggins is dealing with her wounds without any of the extra comforts you've both been offered. Stab wounds in the shoulder hurt worse when sitting up, but she's remained where she is without complaint in order to serve her people.”

Though Kíli flinched and muttered an apology for not having realized the condition Bilbo was in, it was Fíli who had the most notable reaction.

The lad paled, eyes widening in both pain and shock, as he stared at Bilbo's shoulder as if he could see through the layers of fabric to check on the wound only if he tried hard enough.

“Mother returned a blade to me from you, but didn't say why you had it,” he said slowly, voice laced with pain. “You were injured saving me from my own foolish mistake. You warned me away, but I didn't listen. The stab wound is from my dagger, is it not?”

Bilbo grimaced, but said nothing.

Dori winced at the brokenhearted expression curving the lad's face down into a deep frown.

“It's fine,” Bilbo said suddenly, words coming in a rush as if she were trying to speak quickly enough to stop Fíli's sorrow. “It was the fault of the Orc that threw it. Hobbits heal quickly. You know this. There is no need to worry. My kin have tended to the wound, and I've rested enough.”

“But it pains you.”

Bilbo blinked, mouth snapping shut as she looked helplessly to a rather amused Skin-changer. He seemed to hold back his laughter, however, and instead reached over to ruffle silver hair affectionately.

“Little eyas is fine. I'd carry her off if I thought she was pushing herself.”

“But–”

“Tauriel,” Thranduil spoke suddenly, voice equal parts amused and exasperated. “Tend to the Youngest Princess of Erebor so that we may continue. The Younger Prince will not allow this meeting to continue if not.”

Though Fíli blushed at such a direct statement on his affections, he bowed his head in thanks to the Elvenking.

Bilbo, on the other hand, stuttered with wide eyes as the red-haired Elf maiden moved towards her.

“Princess? I think not! Thain-Heir of Hobbits, yes. Hardly a Princess of Dwarrow.”

Thranduil looked amused, smiling almost fondly at Bilbo. “Are you not? Both the history of your bloodline and the courtship with Prince Fíli mark you a Princess of Erebor.”

Dori glared when both Fíli and Bilbo blushed after glancing to one another.

“We aren't courting,” they said together.

Thranduil only shrugged, a sly smirk disappearing behind a raised goblet. “Not yet.”

“Here,” Tauriel said quickly, eyes flickering only a moment to Thranduil in reproach. “Allow me.”

Though she looked as though she wished to say something to the Elvenking, Bilbo took a calming breath instead. She shifted forward, rotating in her seat to offer the Elf maiden her back, and glared at a grinning Beorn.

“Now, don't let me ruffle your feathers,” he said around a booming laugh. “Be happy you have such a lovely Healer to tend to your hurts. I was stuck with a barmy Wizard.”

Bilbo's lips twitched, eyes flashing with something more than just amusement. “Lovely?” She glanced over her shoulder at the Elf. “You are indeed, Mistress Elf. However, I know my Bear very well. You must have done something quite amazing to earn his praise.”

Beorn grumbled, crossing his arms as he narrowed his gaze at the Elf, and watched closely when slim hands began to glow with a gentle light not unlike starlight.

“Perhaps,” the Elf answered, brow furrowing and then twitching when her light seemed to be absorbed like a sponge into Bilbo's skin. “You respond quickly to Elven healing.”

“Aye.” Dori wasn't the only one to frown at the short answer, but she didn't offer any further explanation. “Perhaps we may continue.” It was neither a question nor a suggestion.

“Where would you like to continue at,” Thorin inquired, leaning back against his chair tiredly.

“Well,” Bilbo began, humming slightly as she thought. “There is no point in asking more of my kin until the Eagles return. I understand what's happened in the mountain to lead us here, as well as your _poor_ reasoning for capturing us.” She paused to look at Gerontius. The old Hobbit nodded in response, eyes flickering briefly to a spot on the table, and then back to her. “Let us go ahead and discuss this alliance before we stop for the night.”

“You've read the contract. What more needs to be discussed?”

Dori mirrored his daughter's look of exasperation.

“ _Everything_ ,” she drawled, sounding so much like cousin Dwalin that he looked up to see if the Captain of Erebor's Royal Guard spoke. “Is the alliance real? Is it just a cover for getting Hobbits to Erebor to appease the masses? What of the terms? And why are the neighboring settlements being involved? I have been told King Thranduil and the previous King of Dale had been kind to Hobbits when they occupied the lands at the base of Erebor. They have no reason to make an alliance with us to atone. I can understand the kingdoms answering a summons based on a treaty held between the three powerful lands, but they have no reason to seek an alliance themselves.”

Dori had to hide a smile at his daughter's quick mind. Though such a wit reminded him of Nori, something he would never tell his blasted brother, the spoken thoughts seemed steadier and spoken about in a measured way.

Though he never met the fellow, Dori suspected those traits belonged to Bungo.

“The alliance is legitimate,” Thranduil vowed, carefully setting his goblet aside. “Just as Erebor has need of your services, so does Dale and Greenwood.”

“And what services would that be?”

“Their lands are sick,” Gerontius explained. “The soil is ill and the plants that grow are rotting away. They'll be pressed for food if this continues another year.” Bilbo frowned, nose twitching the way Belladonna's used to when troubled. “Perhaps it is from the sudden departure of our kin.”

Bilbo shook her head. “No,” she said with certainty. “Had it been as simple as that, the lands further out wouldn't be bothered. We didn't live close to the woods or Dale. We did not tend to their lands. If their lands are ill, it is because someone is making it happen.”

Gerontius was the one to frown this time. “So, it is the Witch. I thought as much.”

“Aye. It would seem she isn't above starving them all to get Hobbits back to the mountain.”

Dori frowned when the two Hobbits shared a loaded look, but there was no way to decipher the meaning. Both wore blank expressions when they turned to face the room.

“So, Elves and Men are joining the alliance to both promise to protect the Hobbits should the Dwarrow turn us away once more, and to receive healing for the soil itself in return,” she summarized. Thorin nodded in response. “Alright. We can work with that _if_ we agree to help. Now, as for Erebor and her Dwarrow, how do we know Hobbits will be safe? I will not allow my kin to be hauled in the mountain to be trapped where a threat is clearly hiding.”

“You are not in danger from Dwarrow of Erebor who can claim their minds as their own,” Thorin explained, sounding calmer than Dori expected he would. “The Witch may try to strike at your kin. We believe she is trying to use Hobbits to bring down the Line of Durin within Erebor. And you need not worry about Hobbits living within the Mountain. We've spent the last three years building a new village, this one twice the size of the old one with many new features the last village never had, so that the Hobbits who choose to help us will be comfortable.”

If this softened her heart, Dori couldn't tell. She still looked impassive, but Gerontius looked intrigued.

“Three years,” she echoed. “So, you began these preparations when Dwarrow began to demand for the Hobbits to return?”

“Aye. We held off many from going in search of Hobbits themselves by claiming the Hobbits would need a home first. After all, you'd be leaving your own to come save ours. The least we could do is offer housing beside the legal contract.”

“I see. And there was no opposition to this?”

“No. None.”

“Ah.” Bilbo sent a troubled frown at Gerontius while saying, “I'll need to check the village myself before everyone enters. I'll go in with a small unit who can handle themselves. The Witch has most likely done something there.”

Dori frowned at the news, but accepted that it could very well be true. He certainly wouldn't be surprised if she managed to make herself into the guarded village without their knowledge.

“And you'll be able to tell,” Thorin asked.

“Aye.”

“And do something about it?”

Bilbo didn't even pause to think. “Aye.”

They all fell silent at this, allowing the simple word to carry such a heavy meaning to them. Thranduil, eyes narrow beneath a dipping brow, leaned forward to stare directly into an unflinching silver gaze.

“You know what the Shadow Witch is.” His tone was certain.

Bilbo's tone was even more so. “I do.”

The outcry was immediate, but Bilbo didn't flinch even as the Skin-changer at her side growled in warning. She stared Thorin down, an unstoppable force clashing against an immovable one, and waited for the storm to calm.

Finally, Thorin spoke. “You would keep such information from our people, knowing the peril it would bring about?”

“If it benefited _my_ people, the Hobbits of Mistfield _and_ , if you spoke true, the ones hidden from us, then yes. I would reveal _nothing_ to you.”

“You are our–”

“Your _nothing_.” Her voice was winter stone, layered with ice and precarious to stand against. “I was raised without the help of a single Dwarf. Not from my sire. Not from my uncle. Not from the one my mother claimed as her second father.” Dori and Dwalin both flinched, but the only sign of distress from Nori was the slightest tightening along his jaw. “I do not blame them for not knowing of me,” she continued, voice gentle with reassurance, “but that does not take away from the fact that the Dwarrow or Erebor are _not_ the ones I grew, cried, and bled beside. They are not the ones who have survived starvation, war, and torture shoulder to shoulder with me.” Dori recoiled, much like Nori did, and did not cry out in denial only because the very breath in his lungs had turned to poison, paralyzing heart and tongue alike so that he could not react to such horror. “Blood does not make one kin, Dwarf. Do not think you have a right to me because of what is held within my veins. You know naught of my heart, mind, and soul. _That_ knowledge is found with my people, and it is _them_ that I choose to serve.”

Silence followed. It stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, for several minutes. Bilbo's blazing gaze never wavered, her spirit never faltered, when struck by the heavy air of heartbreak and regret pressing down the shoulders of every Dwarf before her.

Though they wished to, no one said a word.

For there was nothing to be said.

Not when Bilbo spoke her mind so plainly.

And not when everything she said was the truth.

“Perhaps,” Gerontius began, soft voice carrying into the stillness as if thunder after a storm, “it would be best to continue this in the morning, after all. I can go over the contract with Bilbo. There's no point in keeping me separate from my kin, anymore.”

“Aye. I think it may be for the best,” Thorin agreed, voice tired and strained.

Dori panicked as Dwarrow, Men, and Elves were called in to begin clearing the tables. He stared unseeingly at the canvas ceiling. He knew if he looked, if he saw his daughter's silver hair disappearing through the entrance, he would not be able to stop himself from following.

Nori nudged him in his side, a worried noise in the back of his throat, but he didn't respond.

A different voice, less familiar in memory but far harder to ever forget, had his head swinging back down.

“There will be some measures within the contract Grandfather will have trouble explaining properly,” Bilbo began, a glint of uncertainty in her eyes. “Perhaps, Master Dori, you will be willing to explain them to us. If you have the time, please, come to our tent. I'd be happy for your help.” She turned towards the entrance, Gerontius and Beorn at her back, and disappeared before he could pick his jaw up quick enough to respond.

Nori snorted beside him.

“Well, you'll be going after her,” Dís ordered softly. “Not to worry. Víli is with me. Nori will stay with Ori while you're away. Go. Spend time with your daughter.”

Dori bowed, nerves and tears choking his throat, and left his kin to follow after the daughter he hadn't know he had.

With a silent prayer to Yavanna and Mahal, Dori hoped he would at least earn a small place in her life with the hesitant steps they'd take together tonight.

-LoSF-

“Are you sure about this,” Gerontius asked, eyes worn but earnest. Bilbo appreciated her Grandfather's concern, as well as the concern the rest of her kin plainly expressed, but she knew in her heart she needed to give the Dwarf, her sire, a chance.

“If we do not have time to speak tonight, we may never again get the chance,” she answered, hiding her nerves by stirring the thick tea Beorn had made to aide in her healing. “I will not risk the safety of my people by trusting a Dwarf out of kinship. The Eagles will bring back proof of the Stone King's claims before dark falls tomorrow, or no amount of risk by a Witch who hides behind smoke and mirrors will make us stay. We cannot risk our kin.”

“Wise words,” Fortinbras II praised, dipping his head in approval. His blue eyes, dull and cloudy with blindness, looked towards her. “I believe, given your particular situation, it is the best route to take.”

Gerontius sighed at his words, but leaned into the pillows stacked around him without further argument. Bilbo couldn't help but smile fondly towards Fortinbras, reaching out carefully to lightly squeeze his hand in thanks.

Bilbo, like many others, had been devastated when the once Thain-Heir was brought back from a hunting party with his head wrapped in bloodied cloths and his small body dipping at odd, sickening angles.

He'd been struck in the head by the swipe of a startled Warg. The force of it threw him from his pony, sending him bouncing down a rocky slope, where he was then trampled by another pony.

No one was sure which of the hits was the one to take his vision, but his eyes had been clouded since waking from his two week sleep. And though they had all wept and thrown their support behind the kind Thain-Heir they so admired, Fortinbras had transferred the title to Bilbo two months later.

Truly, as he told her, he would have transferred it the day he woke if not for the injuries to his legs keeping him in bed. Even Hobbit healing could not rush the mending of splintered and shattered bones, so he was ordered to take stay in bed to give the mended fractures and breaks time to truly gain strength. He did so, but sought out Bilbo immediately afterwards.

He himself took the crown of flowers, picked and made by his own hand as tradition would have it, to place upon her head in acknowledgment of his wish to pass the title of Thain-Heir down to her.

Part of her wished to refuse, but the larger part couldn't turn away from Fortinbras' hopeful grin. Knowing he had lost more than just his sight that awful pain filled night, she could not refuse him. Not the Hobbit who had lost over twenty years of his life to strict political training only for all of it to be meaningless before he could even put it to use in real courts.

Because, heartbreakingly, the Hobbits were more than ready to accept a blind Thain-Heir as their soon to be Thain, even they had to concede he would be seen as an invalid when traveling to towns of Men. Relations would sour the moment someone tried to take advantage of his blindness, something they all knew would eventually happen, and once more they would have enemies besides Orcs, Wargs, and Goblins.

They would have enemies where they once had trading contracts and market rights.

No, that wasn't something there still recovering Hobbits could afford. So, with his back straight and shoulders squared, Fortinbras named her his successor before he even took up the mantle of Thain himself.

It _hurt_ to accept something from her kin while knowing how much the loss of it pained them.

Still, they both knew just as every Hobbit and Dwobbit did, that it was for the best. And when he presented her as his Thain-Heir, no one objected despite the silent tears and pained smiles. Gerontius, being the one to have the final say on the matter, accepted her as his Thain-Heir with a warm grin and heartbroken eyes.

Fortinbras began training her immediately, and had continued helping Gerontius while guiding Hobbits in his own way since.

They, from the oldest to the youngest, considered themselves both blessed and lucky to have such a fine Hobbit at their sides.

Bilbo certainly never faltered in her respect and pride in the Hobbit who confidently crowned her with the flowers and weave representing the Thain-Hair.

In fact, as the years passed, that respect only grew.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, pulling her hand back to continue stirring the tea. “Even if we do not get a chance to speak on my mother in this moment, I will at least be thankful for his help with the contract.”

Gerontius grumbled, puffing angrily at the pipe handed to him by Flambard, before grumpily replying, “Well, at least it's not the little Prince trying to attend. Last thing I need right now is two doe-eyed youths in powerful positions stumbling over words during such an important discussion.”

Wisely, Bilbo said nothing in response as nearby Hobbits and Dwobbits snapped their necks around to stare gleefully at her back. She was all too aware of how they would find a way to throw her in Fíli's path, personal grudges against Dwarrow aside, if they thought for even a moment it would prove to be entertaining _and_ productive to her love life.

Not that she had one.

Or wanted one.

Least of all with Fíli.

Truly.

“Keep blushing like that, cousin, and the youngest of the Tooks will hogtie your Prince Charming to haul him this way,” Flambard laughed, voice louder than necessary to carry through the tent. “Fairly certain he won't mind. He's been doing all he can to be at your side.”

Cheeks aflame and glare blistering, Bilbo hurriedly took a long drink of the sweetened tea to avoid cursing every foul word she could think to name at the grinning face before her.

“That so?” Gerontius' expression took a thoughtful turn.

Panic shot straight through Bilbo, making her rush to answer before Flambard could. “Perhaps,” she began loudly, “we could focus on the contract before it gets even later instead of a non-existing...romance.”

“I second that.”

Bilbo didn't jump at the soft voice from the front of the tent, but it was a close thing.

Turning her head towards the Dwarf who had spoken, Bilbo allowed herself to get the first good look at her sire.

His hair, as she'd been told many times before, was nearlyidentical to her own. If not for the obvious curls her own held, she would not be able to tell the difference should they lay a strand from both their heads beside one another.

Likewise, their eyes were close to a perfect match. Though her own eye shape was much more rounded than Dori's, the color was exactly the same.

As she suspected, the Dwarf was shorter than many of the Dwarrow she'd seen. He was, however, much more broad. With shoulders like wide barrels and arms thick as oak branches, Bilbo didn't doubt the odd strength held within her frame _without_ using her Gift came from him.

Part of her wondered if her own children would have such strength.

The other part stuttered and blushed profusely for even thinking of children in such a situation.

“Be welcome,” she said when Dori didn't step further into the room. “I thank you for making time to see me.”

Bilbo winced in the same moment Dori did, and hurried to reassure him she had not meant her words as the slight it could be taken for.

“Peace,” he said, smiling gently when faced with the distress suddenly lighting in her eyes. “I see you did not mean any offense, Lady Baggins. May I join you?”

Gerontius nodded, eyes softening ever so slightly. “Of course, Dori. You are always welcome in my company.”

Dori appeared startled for only a moment, but relief soon softened his features. He smiled, eyes scanning the area, and blinked in surprise when Bilbo patted the space to her left.

He sat with a nod, eyes warm on her a moment before, thankfully, asking about the contract rather than trying to start any personal conversations.

Bilbo dug her heels into the familiar territory of politics and began going through the hefty contract page by page with careful, assessing eyes.

Though she had given Thorin a hard time over it, the contract was rather straightforward with no hidden clauses. The marriage bit with Frerin, as they'd all pointed out earlier, was no longer something to concern themselves with.

The rest, however, was carefully combed through under the practiced eyes of the Hobbits most used to going through documents with the aide of a trusted, by Gerontius if no one else, Dwarf who could explain anything that was misunderstood due to cultural or language differences.

It opened quite plainly with stating who the alliance was for. The territories under King Bard, King Thranduil, King Thorin, and the Master of Lake-town wished to present a contract of equal benefit, creating an alliance of Five Boundaries, with the Hobbits.

In return for their aide and protection against any who would seek to harm them and the lands they settled, the Hobbits would offer their hand and knowledge in cultivating lands to heal whatever plagued the soil.

Fair taxation, trading rights, and housing in every surrounding territory was guaranteed. Hobbits and Dwobbits alike would be granted rights and freedoms not allowed during the reign of King Thrór.

Each Hobbit would recieve a sum of money, a prepared home, and a month's worth of basic necessities upon arrival. This included clothing, food, and any medicines needed.

All in all, the contract was well worth the agreements of the Hobbits _if_ the Eagles proved the Mountain King true.

And that wasn't just her own opinion in thinking so.

Because despite the best efforts of Elves, Dwarrow, and Men, Hobbits were far too sneaky to be so easily handled.

The Dwarrow King may have ordered Gerontius be kept separate from everyone, but that didn't mean he hadn't spoken with his kin.

Hobbits, by nature, were all able to use their status of Children of the Earth, Sons and Daughters of the Earthen Queen Yavanna, to blend with their surroundings even if their Gift wasn't one meant for stealth.

There was no possible way to keep a Hobbit from communicating with one nearby. They'd developed Hobbitish, certainly, but they had other secret ways to speak in. Ways not even the Wizards and Elves of ages gone knew of.

Greensong, born in the Wandering Days long before the Shire was settled, was how Hobbits communicated without fear of words being understood if Hobbitish was suspected to be known by outsiders.

Created after watching the way birds would sing to communicate to one another in the canopies of leaves far overhead, the Hobbits created a system of chirps, clicks, and whistles that flowed into beautiful songs. Songs where flowing words were only a covering sound of no meaning and the exclamatory sounds beneath were the words that carried a true message.

Such a method had served the Hobbits well throughout their history, and it had been put to use so that Gerontius could keep his kin informed throughout the days he was kept separate from them.

They had kept the knowledge he shared hidden, even down to the biggest gossiper within the tent, from Bilbo until she herself could read the contract.

Now, however, she held a large backpack that held, carefully wrapped and bound by a green cloth and silver rope, a report from every Hobbit and Dwobbit from Mistfield over the age of twelve.

The reports contained questions, concerns, and input from her kin in regards to the negotiations and possible alliance. They shared their hopes and fears, written plainly in ink before her nose, and she resolved to memorize every single letter written by a Hobbit, be them half or whole born, on frayed pages.

Those letters were combined to make careful, clever words. Ones that carried the weight of thought and will of every inhabitant of Mistfield when Bilbo put her quick mind and silver tongue to use.

Dori, she quickly found, was a true diplomat in the way he carefully listened, thought over, and responded to each and every concern presented to him.

As minutes became hours and soft snores surrounded them, Bilbo slowly began to get a sense of the Dwarf Belladonna so dearly loved.

Bungo and Gerontius had spoken highly of the Dwarf, along with the others who had known him before fleeing the grassy plains around Erebor, and she could see why.

There was something about the Dwarf that spoke of comfort and protection, of warmth and welcome. Something that spoke clearly of _home_. And all Hobbits, Dwobbits included, could not help but to be gladdened when near home.

Dori was, without a single doubt, the most Hobbitish Dwarf she'd ever met. He spoke in the mannerisms of a Hobbit, valued food and hearth over pretty jewels and status gains, and had a softness to his presence most Dwarrow did not.

Yes, Bilbo could see why her mother fell in love with the kindhearted powerhouse. He prettily modeled the best aspects of Hobbit and Dwarrow habits, but had a warming spark that spoke soundly of home to those who had feet that were fast to travel but reluctant to return.

He, with his silver hair and moonlight eyes, was a beacon that guided wary hearts to the safety of a warm shelter and a comforting embrace.

Oh, most certainly, Bilbo knew exactly why her wild mother fell in love with such a Dwarf. With one such as Dori by Belladonna's side, she would never feel as though she were missing a cozy smial. How could she? When Dori provided all the comforts a home could offer a wild lass like Belladonna within his noble bearing?

Seeing this, acknowledging just the type of Dwarf her sire was, something she'd not known was tight and coiled in her heart eased.

Because if she could see why her mother so dearly loved her father, then perhaps she would love him to.

And, just maybe, he would love a Dwobbit child born out of wedlock.

She found herself hoping he would.

“Perhaps we should stop here,” Gerontius said around a yawn. “It's getting late, and we've been over the contract.”

“Aye,” Dori rumbled, voice soft as to not disturb those sleeping near them. Aside from Flambard standing watch at the entrance, all the others had turned in for the night. “I believe we've addressed all the immediate concerns.”

“Yes. Most were of shelter, food, and protection. My people will be eased to know we will be taken care of, and not have to lose our livelihoods in the process.”

Dori agreed with a smile before turning warm eyes on her. “What do you think, Bilbo?” As requested, he forewent any titles and called her by name. She wasn't ready to call him anything so personal, but she knew she wanted him to see her as an individual rather than a title.

Biting her lip, Bilbo pulled a single sheet of paper towards her. It had notes written with letters only she would know the meaning to, having learned them as a secret form of communication between herself and Bungo, and most had been addressed.

One, however, written in the bottom corner as if hoping it would be forgotten, had not been touched upon. Still, it was a common concern by her kin. It was written enough, especially by the Dwobbits, that she had to address it.

Surprisingly, she found herself needing to know just as much as her kin.

“There is one thing I'd like to speak on, if you do not mind?” Though hesitant to hear the answers, fearful of just what those answers would be, she did not cower from seeking them out.

“Of course.” Dori seemed to center himself, seemingly sensing her sudden unease and determination. “Whatever is on your mind, no matter the thoughts or feelings, I wish to know. Please, speak freely.”

Bilbo's lips twitched into a fond smile, but it turned into a heavy frown as she threw her voice and courage to the question brought to her attention before nerves could weaken her resolve.

“Can Hobbits marry outside their race while living in the new settlement?”

Dori and Gerontius both faltered at the question, eyes wide and gaping. She hurried to explain before they could think or say any of the thoughts flashing across their faces.

“Families made of Hobbits and Dwarrow were torn apart for decades starting a hundred years ago. Courtships were abruptly halted, weddings canceled, and even divorces requested. Many Hobbits, mostly lasses, were left in tears and broken homes. Some of the Dwarrow were torn away by law, but others willingly stepped down to follow the example of their King. Not unlike myself, that is why Dwobbits are here with us in this tent today. The families they should have been born and raised to were not allowed to exist as one.”

Dori flinched, but did not speak out immediately. He fell silent, thinking carefully over her words with the same consideration he'd given every other question and remark that passed through her lips. And though Bilbo knew he no doubt was thinking of his own missed marriage with Belladonna, he didn't allow those thoughts to cloud his judgment.

“I believe marriages would be accepted as long as both parties are willing participants. We certainly do not wish to force anyone together,” he said at length.

Bilbo bit her lip, thinking carefully over all possible solutions to the fears of her kin. She knew one heavy concern was to be found in the broken hearts of the Hobbits who'd been denied their chance at a happy family when their courtships with a Dwarf were suddenly stopped.

These Hobbits were ones who did not get a chance to run away with their beloved Dwarf, because said Dwarf had decided to follow the rule of the Crazed King instead of their own hearts.

Now that Bilbo was aware of the so called Witch stalking the very halls of Erebor, she couldn't help but to wonder if those Dwarrow had been taken over by the the wicked creature.

If so, the Witch had more to pay for than anyone realized.

_That_ was something she would make very sure to find out soon.

If all things went according to plan, hopefully morning would bring such answers. It would depend solely upon the mood of a stubborn Mountain King.

“The Hobbits who were cast aside by a Dwarf instead of being taken away in search of a better life,” Bilbo began, kindly ignoring the flinch that jerked her sire violently to the side at her words, “were they all similar to your situation?”

“Ah,” Dori began, face contorting with pain, “No, not really. Belladonna refused to marry unless we could be married in both the Hobbit and Dwarf way. When our King ordered all courtships to stop, we had not even begun one because of this. I would not court her without being wed in the Dwarf way, and she would not accept a courtship without having both done. In other cases, the Dwarf simply followed the rules of their King. In fewer ones, those somewhat similar to mine, it was a matter of pride.”

Bilbo hummed in thought at this. She remembered quite clearly how her mother wished to be wed to the Dwarf in the manner of her people and his people. She wished to recognize and respect both cultures in full, and would not move forward in a relationship, no matter how much she may have wished for the wedding, without having both Dwarf and Hobbit traditions acknowledged.

“I do not think pride was the case for many. At least, not for my mother,” Bilbo said softly, startling Dori from his own thoughts. “From the few memories I have of her, I recall her talking lovingly of how beautiful and wondrous the differences in cultures were. To her, I think, having both a Hobbit and Dwarf wedding done was a way of showing respect to both Yavanna and Mahal. As someone who admired and loved life so completely, it would feel like a slight against those who shaped and formed the very love between a Dwarf and Hobbit if such traditions were thrown aside. I believe, truly, it was a matter of standing against an injustice. It was a matter of planting her feet firmly into the grounds of her beliefs, and not giving an inch to the Crazed King who dared to tarnish such love. Witch or not, the actions of the Dwarrow decades before were wrong. My mother knew that. She stood against it. _That_ is why you did not wed in the Hobbit way. It would have been wrong to, because there was no reason she shouldn't marry you in the manner you both wished. It wasn't a matter of pride. It was one of loyalty and love. Don't you think?”

Dori said nothing when she turned her eyes to him. He stared, wide-eyed and mouth flapping, as he tried and failed to make any sound. There was wonder and love in his eyes as he blinked away tears. A rough laugh brimming with affection tore from his throat, sounding more of a sob than a chuckle. Still, he offered a smile for Bilbo. One of such gentle tenderness, of fatherly affection, that her heart gave a painful thud in memory of Bungo.

“I see,” he said, voice shaking with emotion. “You do not think ill of your mother or me for being created without a marriage contract between us.”

Bilbo shrugged, shoulders rolling with the movement to shake away the sudden tension setting upon them. “It matters little to me. What's a marriage without love, anyways? You could have wed, but my mother would have regretted it. As it stood, her only true regret was not getting to tell you and the Guard Captain of my existence. Still, she held onto her love and faith until she died. She believed we would one day meet, and she hoped no such darkness would disperse our joy the way it sought to shatter her own.”

“Aye. Sounds like her,” he muttered softly, eyes soft and tender with love for the woman he admired so greatly. “You remind me of her. Though, I am happy to see you are more calm. She was wild like fire in manner,” he explained with a chuckle.

“Ah,” Bilbo said with a grin, winking at her chuckling grandfather. “I have been told much of her exploits.”

Dori laughed more freely, but calmed quickly with a thoughtful look. “You worry for the Hobbits who were turned away,” he said with certainty. “You fear they will be sought out by the Dwarrow who turned from the love they'd committed themselves to.”

“I do,” she answered immediately. “I fear for their hearts. These are Hobbits of eighty years and older who have carried both heartbreak and child without the care of the Dwarf responsible for the creation of both. I fear for their health and peace of mind.”

Dori frowned, but nodded in understanding. “What would you wish to do about it? Ban Dwarrow who broke a courtship from seeking the loves they abandoned?”

Bilbo shook her head, mind going back to the hopeful questions written by hands shaking with emotion. “No. Not that. I have a solution in mind, but I will not decide until I speak with the Mountain King. I'm hoping to see him in the morning.”

Dori nodded, face immediately snapping into something fierce. “I will make it happen. I will escort you to him myself. Would breakfast be too early?” He stopped, blushing brightly with a bashful smile twisting his lips. “I do not mean to say you must join us. Though, we would certainly enjoy your company.”

Gerontius snorted across from them. “Go on, lass. Best get your answers before the Eagles return.”

Bilbo nodded in agreement. “Aye. I will join you.”

“Good.” Dori smiled, bright and joyful. “I look forward to it. For now, however, I believe we should stop for the night. You both need rest.”

Bilbo held back a frown, trying to mask her disappointment. Her grandfather knew the meaning behind her every twitch, however, and clapped Dori on the shoulder while saying, “Perhaps, if you have the time, you'd be willing to fix up a hot cup of tea to help Bilbo sleep? I'm sure her wounds will bother her tonight. Best for her to take whatever help she can get to secure a good rest with a long day waiting for her in the morning.”

He walked away before Dori replied, but Bilbo was too startled by the sudden assessing gaze on her to call him out on such nonsense.

“Tea and scones,” he said with a nod, hurrying to his feet as he continued to look her over. “Perhaps a few other sweet things, also. A good slice of cake wouldn't hurt. You certainly need the energy, and you look as though you haven't been eating properly.”

“Ah,” Bilbo stuttered, tongue moving against her will when faced with her sire's mounting concern. “I may be a bit underweight for my structure and age. I've had to skip meals so that my kin may eat while traveling here.”

Dori stopped, eyes suddenly thunderous as he stretched and curled strong fingers in a manner that said he wished to sink them into something, and huffed a rough sigh.

“Well, I'll certainly be speaking to that one by the end of the night. Starving a Dwobbit. The utter _nerve_.” Bilbo blinked in stunned silence as he muttered darkly about the arrogance that plagued the males born under the direct line of Durin. She jerked her shoulders back when his silver eyes suddenly pinned her with a determined look. “I'll be back with a late meal, desserts, snacks, and tea. Give me one moment.”

He darted off before she could say another word, muttering all the way.

She shook her head in astonishment when he finally disappeared out the tent in search of nourishment for her, and turned her wide eyes to Flambard. He grinned brightly at her, smile trembling with amusement as he snorted softly.

“Good chap, that fellow. He certainly has a grand sense for the important things. Much like a Hobbit.”

Bilbo laughed softly at this, wiggling down more comfortably into the pillows and furs surrounding her to continue going over her notes.

Though she never said anything, she couldn't help but agree.

Dori was certainly a grand fellow.

One deserving of the love Belladonna had for him.

Of that, Bilbo had never had any doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview Next Chapter
> 
> Bilbo yawned tiredly, sipping on the steaming tea Dori had brought for her just minutes before while several Hobbit women cheerfully worked on taming her wild curls.
> 
> As promised, her sire had shown up to bring her to the Royal Ereborian family for breakfast. He'd arrived earlier than expected, a tea that would both warm and wake her held in one hand, and a fine dress of green and silver in the other.
> 
> Her kin had jolted to awareness at the sight of it, knowing they had yet another chance to pamper her. She accepted the gift kindly, but confusedly asked where a dress that could work for her had appeared from.
> 
> To her great shock, the Dwarf had spent the few hours of the night and morning he hadn't been with her working on a dress Ori, his honored sister and her blood cousin, had given to him to adjust for her use.
> 
> He admitted to having a small pile started and ready for her use, both dresses and tunics included in that pile, but had only had time to finish the one. Nori, her blood uncle, had stitched the hem while he'd done the rest.
> 
> With a bark of delighted and surprised laughter, Bilbo handed over the beautiful dress and accepted it with a hesitant hug that Dori tearfully returned.
> 
> Though the situation wasn't best, and they'd both prefer to get to know each other in a different setting, they both were trying. They were doing their best with what they had to show they were willing to work on building a connection between one another.
> 
> Truly, that was all Bilbo could ask for at the moment.
> 
> So, with a warm smile and a promise to hurry, Bilbo pulled away to move behind the privacy curtain where the Hobbit women who had won the fight to tend to her for the day waited.
> 
> They'd pounced on her like something starved, but she bore it with a smile for her sire's sake. It wasn't a hardship. Unlike the times she scowled and snapped at her kin when they dressed her in the dresses worn by Women and those designed for her by Elves, this dress did not make her feel indecent by showing off her shape, or overly modest by hiding her figure entirely.
> 
> With the square neck and tight sleeves, Bilbo felt as though she could move freely without catching the fabric or, in the case of some of the dresses she was given to wear in the company of Men of wealth and fame, splitting the tight seams by simply breathing.
> 
> She had to admit that her cousin, Ori, must have a similar shape in shoulders to her own. She doubted the dress would fit so well if not.
> 
> With her attitude towards the dress being far more accepting than any other she'd worn, besides the one she kept hidden in her pack at all times, her kin had her dressed and pushed into a chair to begin working on her hair in minutes.
> 
> Dori, meanwhile, had left the tent to take care of a few things. He'd handed the tea to a grinning Flambard with the promise to be back soon, so Bilbo was happy enough to wait for her sire while sipping on the lovely tea.
> 
> By the time he returned, face set in stubborn lines and eyes just as determined, Bilbo was dressed and waiting with part of her curls plaited back from her face while the rest fell down her back like crashing waves.


	21. TWENTY ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope everyone is doing well! I got a new laptop, so I should be able to get back on a writing/editing schedule. Thank you all for being patient!
> 
> Warmest wishes to everyone!

-LoSF-

Bilbo yawned tiredly, sipping on the steaming tea Dori had brought for her just minutes before while several Hobbit women cheerfully worked on taming her wild curls.

As promised, her sire had shown up to bring her to the Royal Ereborian family for breakfast. He'd arrived earlier than expected, a tea that would both warm and wake her held in hand, and a fine dress of green and silver in the other.

Her kin had jolted to awareness at the sight of it, knowing they had yet another chance to pamper her. She accepted the gift kindly, but confusedly asked where a dress that could work for her had appeared from.

To her great shock, the Dwarf had spent the few hours of the night and morning he hadn't been with her working on a dress Ori, his honored sister and her blood cousin, had given to him to adjust for her use.

He admitted to having a small pile started and ready for her use, both dresses and tunics included in that pile, but had only had time to finish the one. Nori, her blood uncle, had stitched the hem while he'd done the rest.

With a bark of delighted and surprised laughter, Bilbo handed over the beautiful dress and accepted it with a hesitant hug that Dori tearfully returned.

Though the situation wasn't best, and they'd both prefer to get to know each other in a different setting, they both were trying. They were doing their best with what they had to show they were willing to work on building a connection between one another.

Truly, that was all Bilbo could ask for at the moment.

So, with a warm smile and a promise to hurry, Bilbo pulled away to move behind the privacy curtain where the Hobbit women who had won the fight to tend to her for the day waited.

They'd pounced on her like something starved, but she bore it with a smile for her sire's sake. It wasn't a hardship. Unlike the times she scowled and snapped at her kin when they dressed her in the dresses worn by Women and those designed for her by Elves, this dress did not make her feel indecent by showing off her shape, or overly modest by hiding her figure entirely.

With the square neck and tight sleeves, Bilbo felt as though she could move freely without catching the fabric or, in the case of some of the dresses she was given to wear in the company of Men of wealth and fame, splitting the tight seams by simply breathing.

She had to admit that her cousin, Ori, must have a similar shape in shoulders to her own. She doubted the dress would fit so well if not.

With her attitude towards the dress being far more accepting than any other she'd worn, besides the one she kept hidden in her pack at all times, her kin had her dressed and pushed into a chair to begin working on her hair in minutes.

Dori, meanwhile, had left the tent to take care of a few things. He'd handed the tea to a grinning Flambard with the promise to be back soon, so Bilbo was happy enough to wait for her sire while sipping on the lovely tea.

By the time he returned, face set in stubborn lines and eyes just as determined, Bilbo was dressed and waiting with part of her curls plaited back from her face while the rest fell down her back like crashing waves.

Over the dress, much to the silent amusement of her kin, was a leather coat usually worn by a certain Dwraven Prince. No one had said a word when she slid her arms through the sleeves, but they'd shared the same expression Dori now wore.

She smiled cheerfully at his tender look, handed off her empty cup to a smiling Hamfast, and walked with Flambard towards the stunned Dwarf.

“I believe both the dress and coat suit you quite beautifully,” he said gently, eyes warm and smile soft. “Are you ready to go?”

“Aye,” Flambard said, patting the bound papers she'd sorted out the night before that contained the contract, her notes on it, and her notes on the reports from her kin. “A Hobbit is always ready for breakfast.”

Bilbo snorted, shaking her head fondly at her cousin, but accepted Dori's arm without a word against her cousin's sass.

Dori, to her surprise, said nothing when Flambard fell obediently behind them. Catching her look, he smiled softly down at her.

“It's my job to guard Princess Dís, and I do believe it is Master Flambard's wish to guard you. I have no reason to go against such added protection.”

Having nothing to say to that, Bilbo could only smile as she looked around the camp.

It didn't take her long to realize Dwarrow were stumbling over themselves to get a good look at her. She soundly ignored their curious looks, but paused when a familiar head of hair caught her attention.

“Emli!” Bilbo's voice rang clear through the air, cutting through the bustling sounds of the morning workers who were preparing camp for the day.

The Dam in question turned instantly, brows drawn together as keen eyes sought her target. A wide grin danced across her face when she caught sight of her.

“Good morning to you!” She hurried over, morning light splintering off the cuts of jewels decorating her brows to create a shimmer of light around her dark eyes. “I have hoped to see you, Lady Guard.”

Bilbo cracked a grin. “I'm sure you've heard my name by now.”

“Of course!” Her laugh echoed, catching the attention of those around who hadn't yet noticed them. “A Dwarf who doesn't know how to dig up a little pebble of information is hardly a Dwarf at all!”

Bilbo snorted, shaking her head in fond amusement, and glanced at Dori who was looking between the two curiously.

“I heard Bilbo saved your sister. I'm glad Miss Memli is well,” he said softly, eyes earnest.

Emli sobered with a gentle grin. “Aye. Bilbo here is owed much by us, but she has not been willing to take any of my offers for reward in any form I've tried to give.”

Flambard laughed, gently pushing against Bilbo to get her moving again. “How about you join her for breakfast as her temporary guard? Though I would love to stay at her side to keep watch, she's uneasy about leaving dearest Primula without either of our protection. I planned to travel between the two to ease her, but perhaps this will work out better.”

“Oh! I wouldn't wish to interrupt a royal meal,” Emli protested, sounding as though she very much _would_ like to attend. “I'm afraid it is rather rude to attend with no invitation.”

“Consider this an invitation,” Bilbo muttered, plucking her bound journal from Flambard's waiting hands to press into Emli. “I'm inviting you as my _guard_. Would you like to join me?”

Emli stopped her protests the moment 'guard' was uttered. With a fierce look, one that said she was taking the task very seriously, Emli bowed low and promised to keep anyone from causing her harm.

Hiding a smile, Bilbo winked over her shoulder at Flambard to let him know she appreciated his help. After all, Emli would have certainly kept trying to find a way to aide her if she didn't find one herself. Having her stand guard at a quiet breakfast seemed to be a perfect solution.

Though, knowing who she was going to be dining with, it may not be so quiet.

Still, Bilbo could hope.

-LoSF-

Fíli knew the importance of keeping appearances when it came to being a royal. He knew he was always being observed, always looked to for direction, and needed to present himself in control at all times because of that.

And just as he knew that, he knew he failed at times to keep himself in check.

This, Fíli knew the moment his eyes moved to the shifting canvas to land on the ones entering the Royal Tent, was one of those times discipline and power of will would not aide him in reigning in the emotions that erupted through his veins to heat his face.

“You're staring,” Kíli murmured, eyes twinkling with mischief as he nodded towards the seat Dori was leading Bilbo to. “Best be careful with that. Dori will bounce you down a mineshaft, you lovestruck halfwit.”

Fíli whipped around to glare at his brother's teasing, but a thankful light shone in his eyes at the obvious banter Kíli started up in order to distract him. As they shoved and grumbled at one another, he was able to get his head and expression back in line before having to face forward once more.

Feeling like a pebble with his first crush, Fíli carefully schooled his features into something welcoming but not inviting. He'd been free with his feelings when she presented herself as an adult Hobbit, but he was determined to treat her as a woman yet of age should be.

Had she been an adult, Fíli knew he would freely express his feelings and allow her, as an adult female, to decide if she wished to act upon them.

With her still being a youth in the eyes of Dwarrow, however, he had no choice but to pull back. There were ways a Dwarf could present himself to a grown Dam, and ways he could to one underage.

Unfortunately, unless they had courtship braids in their hair, Fíli couldn't show his feelings without offering a Courting Gift. That would have to wait until they were back in Erebor.

“You're staring at her. _Again_ ,” Kíli snorted.

Fíli glared, but hurriedly began eating to avoid looking at anyone else. His family had already approached him about his obvious attraction to Bilbo the night before. The last thing he needed was to be teased and questioned with her right in front of him. With _Dori_ right in front of him.

His brother was right. That Dwarf would and could bounce him down a mineshaft. Nori would make sure he never came back out.

“Are you alright, Fíli?” He choked on the soft bread at having Bilbo speak to him so suddenly. “Are your wounds bothering you? Would you like me to check on them?”

Fíli very much _would_ like her to check on the cut still smarting across his chest, both for personal reasons and the foreknowledge of her skill with healing. But Thorin was glaring and Dís was grinning. The thunderous looks from Dori and Dwalin were just as convincing in making sure he didn't mention such thoughts, but it was Frerin's silent fury that could be sensed but not seen that had him quickly shaking his head.

“It'll be a bit longer before I'm healed, but the pain is minimal with treatment from yourself, the Elves, and my kin. Thank you,” he smiled somewhat tensely, but softened completely at her worried look.

“Very well,” she turned silver eyes to Kíli. “How about you? Would you like me to examine your wounds?”

Kíli sent him a wicked grin, rubbing at his shoulder with a sigh of feigned exhaustion, while carefully rotating his injured knee. “Well, I certainly wouldn't turn down another check. Wounds need to be tended carefully, after all.”

Emli snorted, speaking when Fíli could only scowl. “She's a fair Healer, but I do not think she's here to tend to your scrapes and bruises.”

Kíli squawked in outrage at having his injuries spoken of so lightly. The others laughed heartily, but Bilbo stood with a calculating look in her eyes as she approached his brother.

“Oh!” Kíli suddenly blushed as she leaned over him. “I was only joking. There is no need to bother you. Dori says you wish to speak with Uncle Thorin.”

“Aye. I'll be speaking with him. I can check on your hurts before that. It's not like I hadn't planned to at some point today. You don't even need to remove anything. Just stay still.”

Bilbo's fingers clamped down around Kíli's wrist before he could even protest. Fíli couldn't help but snort at his gaping expression, watching his brother in amusement as he tried to gently move his arm in a wasted attempt to shake her hold.

“Mahal,” he breathed, dark eyes staring at the Dwobbit in wonder. “How strong _are_ you? I know you ripped me off the ground as if I were but a small stone on the path, but I thought that had been from adrenaline.”

Bilbo's lips twitched into an amused smile. Ori, who had been sitting quietly beside Nori, was the one to answer.

“The Line of Ri is known for their strength. She must have inherited it.”

“Aye. That's why Dwalin and Balin are stronger than the average Dwarf,” Fíli commented, cutting at the sausages on his plate to avoid snarling at his brother for getting to be examined by his One. “The Ri brothers, Dori and Nori, are much stronger. Ori is nearly as strong as Dori.” His gaze shifted to Bilbo, lips quirking into a proud grin as he met her eyes. “Bilbo, from what I've witnessed, is stronger than all of them.”

Bilbo looked pleased by his praise, but did not shy away from her work despite the light pink coloring her pale skin. As always, she was perfectly professional and dedicated to her task.

“I see the Elves have done a good job at mending the bone,” she commented, the hand not holding Kíli's arm in place gently running over the tightly wrapped bandages on his forearm before drifting to his shoulder. She pressed her palm carefully into the fabric of the tunic, but not enough for Kíli to show any signs of discomfort. “The arrow wound will be healed quickly, but the bone isn't fully mended.”

“Aye. The Elves are wonderful Healers, but they do not have the ability to mend bone completely.”

Bilbo's lips twitched, eyes twinkling with amusement as she looked to Emli and murmured something too softly for him to hear. The Dam, with a look of curiosity, rushed across the tent to pick a few blooms left behind by Elves. The flowers were beautiful, but didn't have any healing properties as far as he knew.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, accepting the blooms gratefully. She snatched three flowers from the bundle, pulling the petals cleanly away with a single swipe of her hand, and held them to her mouth as she began whispering softly in the language of her kin.

“Hobbit magic?” Kíli looked delighted at the prospect.

“Something like that,” she said with a grin, spreading the petals from wrist to shoulder as she did so. “Elves, like Hobbits, _can_ fully mend bones for their own kind fairly easily. It may take a few days depending on how talented the Healer is and the extent of the injuries, but it will happen.”

“But,” Thorin began, tone slowly tumbling towards anger, “the Elves–”

“Couldn't mend them completely, yes. They couldn't because he is a Dwarf, and their magic is most easily accepted by one of their kind. Also, they do not have the same density that a Dwarf has. They are built for flying through woodlands, Dwarrow are built for staying steady as the mountains. It can make it hard for Healers to determine just how much of their energy they need to push into their patient. Too little will drain the Elf quickly with healing being slow. Too much will splinter the bone further.”

“Oh,” Kíli mumbled, sharing a surprised look with their mother and uncle. Fíli hadn't known either, but he could tell by their faces that most at the Durin family breakfast hadn't.

“Do not fear, little prince,” Bilbo said around a grin, eyes dancing with laughter as her hand gripped his elbow. “My bone density is greater than a Hobbit's, but less than a Dwarf's. My Green Magic knows exactly how to heal both.”

“Green Magic? Is that a Hobbit secret,” Fíli wondered, noting how Ori had wiggled a book out from her bag to take notes.

“No,” Bilbo said, glancing at Ori with a nod of encouragement that had the Dam blushing and beaming all at once. “Green Magic is just the natural talents all Hobbits carry as tools to use for survival and to complete the work Lady Yavanna created us to do.” Her breath ghosted over the petals as she spoke. “Any plant can aide our magic. In this instance, the petals act as a door to allow the Green Magic to pass safely to and from your body.”

The petals began to glow before anyone could ask anything further. They shone like a fracturing gem, beautiful and entrancing. Fíli paid little attention to them. His eyes were far more focused on the golden glow dancing like sunlight across Bilbo's skin.

He knew the moment she tapped into the Hobbit magic by how silver eyes began to shimmer with golden light, and the stone beneath his boots hummed contently in the presence of something so _pure_.

Sunlight continued to pour from within, lighting her pale skin until it glowed with a hidden fire that warmed the soul just as much as it healed the body.

Kíli choked in shock as that sunlight wrapped around his arm like thin vines. It climbed his frozen frame, whispering across cloth and leather to disappear into exposed skin.

A surprised breath escaped him as a bright grin burst to life across his face. He looked up in amazement at Bilbo, childlike wonder in his eyes as he laughed breathlessly.

“It feels like summer winds,” he exclaimed, voice thrumming with excitement. His gaze immediately sought his One's. “Ori! You have to let her treat your wound! It feels _amazing_!”

Bilbo chuckled as Ori stuttered out a protest. “I'll look at you in one moment, cousin.”

The simple word, said in an even simpler manner, stopped the protests before they could start. She blinked, eyes wide and joyful, before nodding quickly. Nori shook his head when his honored sister abruptly stopped to hold her head steady with a groan.

Bilbo winced with a low croon of understanding. “Oh, yes. I will certainly be taking a look at that.” She nodded resolutely before turning her attention back to Kíli. “How's the leg?”

“Bruised, but nothing that I can't handle. I'm lucky the kick was glancing and slowed by the straps on my legs.”

“Good. I'm sure you'll be needing to run about soon enough.” Fíli blinked when she glanced at him. “Both of you.”

Though Fíli remained silent in his confusion, Kíli offered a bright smile as Bilbo pulled away. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Her silver eyes shot to him, brow raised in challenge. “Are we going to have to argue about it? I assure you that you have no chance of winning one against me.”

Víli snorted at his side as Dís chuckled. They'd both watched curiously while the Dwobbit worked, but neither tried to stop her now that they could see her technique was entirely proper.

“If you would be willing, I'd very much like you to treat him,” Dís said, grinning as she stroked her sideburns to try and control her amusement. “It's dangerous for a Prince of Erebor to travel. It's deadly to do so while injured.”

Bilbo frowned and invaded his space before he could think of a response. He was so distracted by her being near, by the warmth of her slight frame and the earthen scent that always clung to her skin, that he didn't realize she'd gathered more petals until they were being pressed into his chest.

The stone exploded with a chorus of sound beneath his boots as golden light surrounded her once more. His chest tightened painfully even as something warm, gentle, and comforting whispered across his skin to begin mending every bruise and scrape beneath his clothes.

He stared up at the Dwobbit standing at his side, leaning over his frozen arm to keep the petals pressed against the tunic covering his chest. Her head bent in concentration, but her eyes rose to his as he continued to stare.

Much needed air finally entered his lungs as he gasped at the silver and gold gems that were her eyes. Bilbo was beautiful no matter what, but when using Green Magic she was positively ethereal.

“Your wounds, though more gruesome in appearance, weren't as bad as your brother's. You've healed quickly with the help from Greenwood Elves.” Fíli could nothing more than grin like a besotted fool back at her bright smile. He didn't even care that most of his kin were chuckling at his clear lack of facial control when faced with his One. He'd be made the jester of all of Erebor before he didn't return a single warm look from Bilbo.

“And from you,” he said softly. “The Elves said the poison had been removed before they reached me.”

That blush would set him aflame one day. Thankfully, mercifully, Bilbo was pulling away before he could do or say anything to make her uncomfortable.

“Aye. From the plants I picked up before.”

He nodded in understanding, twitching at the sudden loss of her warmth and light. “From scouting while I was unconscious?”

“Aye.” She sent him a fierce look as she made her way to Ori. “And do not think I've forgotten about you leaving the safety of the shelter while I was away.”

Víli chuckled, sending Fíli an amused look full of love. “Sounds like our Fíli.”

“Indeed,” Dís snorted, smiling lovingly at their eldest son.

“You were away. Of course I'd follow,” he answered, happily ignoring the thunderous look sent his way by Nori. He had no doubt the protective Dwarf would have something to say to him later about his flirtations.

Bilbo made a noise of annoyance, but her lips twitched into a small smile. Fíli had to count that as a win.

“May I?” Bilbo held her hand up to Ori's bandaged head, petals already plucked and waiting in her palm.

“Oh, of course!” Ori's eyes were blown wide with wonder and curiosity as she watched Bilbo. Fili didn't doubt for a moment she'd have an entire page dedicated to this interaction in her personal journal. “Thank you.”

Bilbo grinned in response, but got to work without a word. Her brow pinched after a moment, a curious glint shone that hadn't been there a moment before, and she hummed quietly.

“Do Dwarrow have something similar to Green Magic,” she asked.

“No,” Ori answered, watching the golden light swirl around them both with interest. “We have Stone Sense, of course. There are some Dwarrow who have unique forms of it, but it's not considered anything like Elf or Hobbit Magic. The survival skills Mahal granted us all are held within our bodies. We are strong and hardy. Sickness rarely touches us, and the elements don't bother us.”

“I see. Dwarrow are built to endure, while Hobbits are built to adapt.” Bilbo nodded firmly before pulling away from Ori. She looked down at her, arms crossed loosely beneath her chest and a contemplative look on her face. “There are no cases of a Dwarf having magic?”

“No.” Ori shook her head. “Some have skill with predictions, but it is considered a Craft that must be practiced. Our best Healer has some skill in it. He's very careful about saying anything about it, though.”

“Do you have such a skill?”

Ori frowned, brows pulling together in confusion as she realized she was being interrogated. “No,” she answered slowly. “Is that a problem?”

Bilbo shook her head. Silver curls followed the movement, swirling and crashing together like restless waves, to pull Fíli's attention from the curious expression contorting his One's face as she answered, “No. I was wondering why your energy is so compatible with Green Magic. Do you have a unique Stone Sense?”

“Oh! I don't. I'm compatible with your Magic? Really?” Ori blushed brightly, tugging at the braid marking her a Scribe with a shy tilt of her head. Kíli sighed softly while watching her. Fíli would have laughed, but Bilbo chose that moment to reach back and run thin fingers through her hair as her face pinched in thought. He wasn't embarrassed to sigh in the same manner as his brother, but he still cringed when Dwalin suddenly smacked them both upside the head.

“Behave. I'll knock ye both on yer asses in front o' the lasses if ye keep at it,” he growled, carrying a tray laden with oats, eggs, and meats over to where Bilbo would soon sit. Dori was just placing one filled with pastries, fruits, and tea down. Fíli frowned at having missed the chance to provide for his One, but turned his attention back to Bilbo when she hummed thoughtfully.

“Aye. Definitely compatible. Green Magic is something only those with Hobbit blood have. As I am a Dwobbit, perhaps the Green Magic recognizes our connection through my Dwarven blood.”

Ori nodded in understanding. Then, as if thinking the same thing, two sets of eyes turned to Nori. He snorted into his cup, shaking his head in fond amusement at both Dams.

“No injuries 'ere, loves. Dori is hale, as well. Ye'll 'ave to wait to test yer theories. I'll nah be stabbin' m'self fer yer curiosity.” A grin, wide and wide against his flaming beard, appeared as his eyes tracked Dwalin. “I'd be 'appy to stab 'im fer ye, if ye'd like.”

“Ye could try,” Dwalin grumbled, flipping his old rival and friend off with a snort of amusement. Nori only laughed in response.

“I'd rather no more injuries occur for pointless reasons,” Bilbo said, eyes zoning in on the food with curiosity. A rumble of appreciation escaped her as she finished the circle back to her seat, skittering by Frerin without either of them glancing at the other. “How did you know I like my oatmeal with berries and a splash of cream on top?”

Dwalin stopped arranging the dishes with a suddenness that made Fíli flinch. The old warrior hummed softly, glancing down at where Bilbo stood at his elbow, and smiled in a way that Fíli had never seen before.

It was the way Thrain smiled at Kíli and himself.

Grandfatherly.

“I didn't. Made it how I always made yer mum's. Didn't realize I had.”

Bilbo smiled in response. She reached out in a sure, graceful movement to squeeze two of his fingers in her small hand, saying all that needed to be said without uttering a word.

“Thank you for the meal. Green Magic makes a Hobbit hungry.”

“That we know,” Dori said softly, ushering Bilbo into a seat between himself and Emli. The Dam looked like she was going to protest, but a single nod from Bilbo had her sitting without complaint.

_Interesting_ , Fíli thought as he eyed the Dam. She usually wasn't one to listen to another so obediently.

“I was told you wished to meet me,” Thorin said after Bilbo was settled and flipping through a journal a few minutes later. Dori was tutting at her side, encouraging her to eat while sending dark looks at Frerin and Víli every time he mentioned how tiny she was. “Did you have time to go over the contract with Dori?”

“I did,” she nodded, nibbling on a pastry as she flipped through and shuffled a few pages. She glanced around the room with a thoughtful hum. It turned into a victorious trill when she realized Ori had finished eating. The Dam was simply sitting, waiting along with the rest of their kin to see what Bilbo wished to discuss. “I've been told you're an exceptional Scribe, my dear. Care to help organize while I eat? Dori will no doubt take the journal in a moment if I don't focus on the dishes in front of me.”

Dori huffed in both amusement and fondness as Ori gasped out a squeal and shot to her feet. She was around the u-shaped table and taking the seat offered to her by Dori with a grin.

Fíli blinked at seeing the three of them lined up. All three were descendants of Durin. Though not of the direct line like his mother and uncles, it was easy to see similar traits shared between the lesser lines when they sat together.

More than that, Fíli couldn't' help but suddenly be reminiscent of a familiar sight he often paused to see after official court meetings were over before Thorin inherited the crown.

Dwalin, Thorin, and Balin.

Three Sons of Durin.

A guard, an heir, and an advisor.

Emli, Bilbo, and Ori.

Three Daughters of Durin.

A guard, an heir, and a scribe.

Fíli didn't doubt that, if the three remained tethered together, they would be just as famous to the Ereborian people as the other trio.

Judging by the sudden serious looks around the table, Fíli wasn't the only one to see that bright beacon of strength and solidarity shining in the not far off future.

Yes, Erebor had a new trio of strength making their debut for the younger generations to look to.

Fíli couldn't stop himself from sharing a proud grin with his brother.

“I'm afraid I cannot read Hobbitish,” Ori began suddenly, a look of surprise on her face, “but I do believe these are reports.”

“Aye. On the contract. From my kin. Their opinions for and against.”

“They had time to do that last night?” Emli seemed just as shocked.

Bilbo grinned around her spoon, eyes shining with amusement at the two Dams. “No. Grandfather had these ready for me upon my arrival. The Hobbits have had plenty of time to know their minds and hearts on the matters written in the contract.”

Thorin sat his goblet down heavily at what such a statement suggested. “That would have to mean they _knew_ the details already.”

“Aye.” Bilbo smiled brightly at Thorin's stunned look. Fíli could only laugh as his kin all looked to Nori.

“Don't look at me. I told ye keepin' tha' 'obbit away would nah stop 'im from keepin' kin in the know.” he grumbled before looking to Bilbo with a serious expression. “Reports, eh?”

She nodded, continuing to eat anything Dori sat in front of her without complaint even as she guided Ori to what she needed with the slightest movement of her eyes.

Had he been sitting at her shoulder, Fíli still wouldn't have been able to follow the subtle communication going on between the two.

He wondered if it was because they were kin around the same age, like Balin and Thorin, that allowed them to guide one another without words or grand gestures. Or if it was because they were Bonded, like he and Kíli, that two Dams could hold an entire conversation with the barest of twitches and glances.

“Mahal,” Kíli breathed beside him. “It really is like watching Balin with Uncle.”

Fíli could only nod.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, accepting the first stack from Ori and sitting it beside her bowl of oats. “The contract has been gone through. Dori and Grandfather explained everything to me that Balin wasn't given the time to do. It's straightforward, and the majority of my kin are willing to agree to it _if_ proof is brought back to validate your claims of our missing kin.”

Thorin frowned. “But there is something that bothers you.”

Bilbo's reply was to hold a hand out. Ori was sliding a single sheet into her waiting fingers without either of them having glanced to the other. Emli, meanwhile, was refilling a nearly empty cup that Bilbo was absently reaching for, eyes scanning the page intently, before the water had even begun pouring.

Fíli was suddenly very envious of their natural connection.

_He_ wanted to be like that with her.

Know her needs and thoughts so well that it was almost like they were a single entity moving together.

“There is, yes. I'm worried for the Hobbits and Dwobbits who were abandoned by the Dwarrow still living in Erebor,” she said simply, startling them all at the unexpected concern. “I know you do not have any of those Dwarrow here. Why?”

“Ah.” Thorin coughed, clearing his throat roughly. “We decided it best to keep them away. We did not know if those Dwarrow would cause the Hobbits distress.”

“I see.” Bilbo's chin raised, eyes sharp and assessing on his uncle. “Will those Dwarrow try to claim my kin? The ones they abandoned? The _children_ they abandoned?”

Fíli flinched at the ice in her tone, but Thorin bore her storm with all the grace and steadfastness of a Mountain King. “They will not be allowed to.”

“Why not?”

Thorin hesitated for only a moment, but Bilbo's gaze narrowed in suspicion.

“Are these Dwarrow, the ones who abandoned my kin, under control of the Witch?”

Fíli hid a grin at his uncle's exasperated look. He knew all too well how smart and perceptive his One was. If he planned on hiding that, he would have needed more than three years of preparation to do so.

“Some,” Thorin admitted. “They have been identified and marked. They are under constant surveillance, but we do not think they will be a threat.”

“Some,” Bilbo muttered, echoing the word with a slow hum. “And the rest?”

“They chose to leave your kin in hopes of keeping them safe,” Thorin admitted. “They could not marry the ones they loved, they could not name their children as heirs, and so they decided they could offer nothing to their loves ones. Not while the Witch still lived.”

Bilbo fell silent.

It was a cold, biting silence that spoke strongly of her disapproval while she accepted a cup of tea from Dori.

She said nothing for several long minutes, but her voice snapped with anger beneath the calming notes when she did.

“So, they live in Erebor to fight the Witch. What were they planning on doing _if_ they destroyed her? Go hunt my kin? Apologize? Offer them marriage beads?”

Even Fíli had to wince at just how foolish it sounded when put that way, but he knew how dangerous the Witch was. There was very little choice for those Dwarrow.

“They couldn't have run when the Hobbits did,” Thorin said soothingly, but it only made Bilbo's eyes heat with agitation. “They had to keep up appearances. If they suddenly started packing, the Hobbits would have had no time to prepare to leave.”

“They were barely prepared at all. Most left with only the clothes on their backs and babes in their arms,” Bilbo snapped, eyes flashing like descending blades. “I'm asking you again, Gramps. _What_ do those Dwarrow plan on doing _if_ their loved ones return? The Witch is still out there. Do the ones not under her control still cast them aside?”

Thorin was silent as sleeping stone as he thought.

Bilbo, meanwhile, never moved her eyes from his even as Dori rushed around her to gather the empty dishes.

Fíli wasn't sure what the importance of asking was, but it apparently meant enough that Thorin was giving it great thought.

That only confirmed it somehow mattered to Bilbo.

Which meant it mattered to her kin.

“I cannot say,” Thorin finally said, voice soft as he admitted the truth. “The Dwarrow may leave them be in fear of the Witch. Some could approach in hopes of getting to see their beloved and the children they created together. I cannot say for certain, but I can promise to keep them away if that is what your kin wishes.”

Bilbo said nothing.

Her face gave away nothing.

She was smooth metal waiting to be crafted into something magnificent.

Utterly blank on the surface, but shining with the potential of something yet unknown within.

Fíli could scarcely breathe in face of such a raw element.

“If my kin wished for it, and the Dwarrow approach with words of courtship upon their tongues, would you allow it?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Thorin's answer.

“I see.” Her head tilted just the slightest, and Ori hurriedly gathered up the papers in organized piles before placing them carefully back where they belonged. She moved aside just as Emli stepped back to pull the chair out as Bilbo stood. “And Erebor? Would they support a Hobbit and Dwarf of common birth beginning a courtship so quickly? Will they accept it? Or will there be protests?”

Thorin turned to Balin, a frown pulling at his face, and motioned for the advisor to answer.

“I'm afraid not everyone in Erebor will be accepting of it, possessed or not, due to some shortcomings of their own making.”

“You mean racism and prejudice,” Bilbo said simply, dipping her head in acknowledgment. “I thought as much. Would Dwarrow of power be able to stop them?”

“Aye,” he answered, but looked as though he hadn't wished to. “They can make it difficult. They'd have to appeal to High Court, to the Lords and Ladies of strong bloodlines who hold positions of power in Erebor, in order to court anyone after having broken a courtship previously. They'd have to convince the High Court that a Dwarf and Hobbit can live together in love and happiness.”

Bilbo sighed. “I thought as much.” She turned her gaze to Ori, and the Dam nodded sharply before looking to Dori. Emli moved to stand at Bilbo's front as she made her way to the entrance, with her sire and cousin covering her back.

She paused when she reached the door, shoulder snapping back as her chin raised a fraction. She turned then, eyes blazing with a determination so fierce it could cut down any challenge with a look alone, and stared Thorin down like a Queen preparing to let her demands be known.

“If the Eagles come back with proof and goods news, I will sign the contract. _But_ ,” she started fiercely when Thorin looked as though he wished to speak, “there is one condition that _must_ be added to the contract.”

“Very well. If it is agreeable, I will add it. What is your demand?”

“It's more of something you need to amend, really.”

Nori choked in the same moment Frerin surged to his feet, face controlled by eyes furious.

“Absolutely not.”

Bilbo's gaze alone should have been enough to set the Dwarf aflame.

“ _You_ ,” she growled, anger thrumming through the word strong enough to choke, “get no say in what I decide for myself.”

“You cannot offer yourself up as a sacrifice for their happiness,” he roared, slamming his hands against the table as Thorin shouted at him to calm down.

“I'm more than aware of your inability to beyond your own selfishness, Betrayer,” Bilbo hissed, eyes alight in fury. Frerin flinched, but didn't sit down. “I exist, body and mind, for the sake of my people. _Not_ as some twisted sense of atonement for an oath-breaker who has no bloody _right_ to me and mine. I make my own decisions. No one else.”

Frerin looked ready to continue, but Dwalin was suddenly there and forcing him back into a seat with a rumbled threat. Thorin, sighing in agitation, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What are you wishing to do,” Thorin demanded in the same moment Balin sighed.

“Are you sure, lass?” Balin looked nearly as pained as Dori, who stood facing away from them all with fists and jaw clenched.

“I am. I am the only able body who claims the highest title by Hobbits. Your Lords and Ladies may try to argue, but none of them will outrank me, who is both a Thain-Heir to Hobbits and Daughter of Durin.”

Fíli finally caught onto where the conversation was going. He choked, eyes wide and panicked as he looked to his uncle, but Thorin wouldn't meet his gaze.

“You're willing to offer such a contract yourself?”

“For my kin, yes.” Her tone was certain and strong. Fíli felt as though he may be sick.

“Very well,” Thorin sighed, running a hand over his face. “It cannot be Frerin, as you know.”

She snorted in reply. “Aye. I cannot marry him, but I offer myself in an open contract that can be further discussed. I'll speak with Grandfather more on it today while we wait for the Eagles to come.”

“Is there anything we should take into account,” he asked, eyes flickering to him for a moment. “Anything at all?”

“I'm underage,” she said clearly, answering even as she turned to leave. “I have another twenty years to go before I'm considered an adult. I'd prefer if you would arrange it to be with someone who is also not yet of age. It would give us plenty of time to court.”

“And open the gates to courtship for your own kin,” Balin mused, lips quirking ever so slightly. “Clever lass.”

Bilbo paused, half of her out of the tent, before locking directly at him. Fíli could feel his heart jolt at the amused flicker there.

“I'd accept any Dwarf who would volunteer himself to be my spouse. Still, he'd have to not yet be an adult himself in Dwarven years _and_ a Dwarf who is near to me in status. We will discuss your choice at a later time.”

She was gone before her words really sunk in.

An odd noise, one that reminded him of steaming pots and boiling water, escaped him as the words fully burrowed into his thoughts.

He leaned back in his seat, eyes wide in shock and mouth opening and closing without sound.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to get the words out.

“Me! I'll do it!”

The words escaped so quickly and at such volume that Víli flinched away, dropping his goblet with a curse, as Dís laughed behind her hand.

“Yes. Great. We _know_ , brother. Still, your One was right earlier,” Kíli muttered as he swung himself up, giving himself a shake as if to loosen his muscles.

“She usually is,” he answered immediately. “About what this time?”

“Needing to run about soon.”

Kíli's hand clamped down on his shoulder as his gaze locked worriedly on something across the room.

Fíli followed his brother's line of sight, and paled at the murderous faces of three of the most notoriously dangerous Dwarrow in all of Erebor.

Frerin, Dwalin, and Nori.

All of whom were looking directly at him.

Fíli was out of his seat and skidding underneath the canvas at his back, Kíli laughing at his side as he dove in the same moment, while all three battle-hardened Dwarrow unleashed cries only heard during times of war and began their pursuit.

As several of Nori's knives slammed into the ground at his heels, Fíli couldn't stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview of Next Chapter
> 
> Night was quickly approaching, and Bilbo was growing restless. She'd spent the last several hours arguing with her grandfather about her decision to go forward with the wedding contract while he hadn't been present, but she did not doubt Fíli would be the one they'd pair her with.
> 
> If they didn't, as Bilbo told Gerontius earlier, she'd deny every offer until the stubborn Mountain King chose the one she wanted to be paired with.
> 
> Though the Thain had laughed mightily at such a statement, he'd at least calmed enough to listen when she explained how she knew the Prince of Erebor to be her One.
> 
> Mahal and Yavanna had been telling her again and again, but she'd done her best to ignore them.
> 
> She didn't want to accept someone just because she was their One.
> 
> She wanted effort.
> 
> Bilbo wanted a proper courtship.
> 
> One like her mother always wanted.
> 
> It was something Belladonna had made her promise she would have before marrying anyone, so Bilbo was getting that courtship no matter what.
> 
> With twenty years to go until she was of age, Bilbo knew she'd get the time matters of the heart deserved to be given.
> 
> And, with Fíli being the one who she'd be paired with, they had another thirteen years to go before he'd be considered an adult himself.
> 
> That would give them plenty of time to solve all the problems between Dwarven nobles and Hobbits, the Witch, and their missing kin.
> 
> It would allow her people time to heal, and to have a chance at a happier future.
> 
> For that reason alone, Bilbo knew she would have agreed to a marriage contract.
> 
> But, since she knew who her One was, Bilbo wasn't sure she could have married anyone besides Fíli.
> 
> She doubted he'd have married anyone else either.
> 
> Though she did doubt his attraction and feelings towards her, Flambard and the other Hobbits had been certain he found her appealing.
> 
> Drogo had pointed out that he'd want to marry his One, so really the offer would only hurt if she found him a lacking spouse.
> 
> She thought long and hard on it, but Bilbo hadn't been able to think of a single thing that Fíli was lacking in.
> 
> He was her One.
> 
> He could never fail her.


	22. TWENTY TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I'd like to apologize for those I told I'd be updating Saturday. We learned late Friday of an unexpected death in the family, and I spent the day talking to my family. Afterwards, I didn't really feel like working on any writing. I'm easing back into it now. If I don't update Wednesday, it will be Saturday.
> 
> Everyone stay safe out there. Take care of yourselves. Remember that self-care is important, and mental illnesses are a valid medical diagnosis.
> 
> I may be a stranger on here, but I'm still human. If anyone ever needs someone to talk to, I'd be happy to hear your story.
> 
> Warm wishes to you all!

-LoSF-

Night was quickly approaching, and Bilbo was growing restless. She had spent the last several hours arguing with her Grandfather about her decision to go forward with the wedding contract while he had not been present, but she did not doubt Fíli would be the one they would pair her with.

If they did not, as Bilbo told Gerontius earlier, she would deny every offer until the stubborn Mountain King chose the one she wanted to be paired with.

Though the Thain had laughed mightily at such a statement, he had at least calmed enough to listen when she explained how she knew the Prince of Erebor to be her One.

Mahal and Yavanna had been telling her again and again, but she had done her very best to ignore them.

She did not want to accept someone just because she was their One.

She wanted effort.

Bilbo wanted a proper courtship.

One like her mother always wanted.

It was something Belladonna had made her promise she would have before marrying anyone, so Bilbo was getting that courtship no matter what.

With twenty years to go until she was of age, Bilbo knew she would get the time matters of the heart deserved to be given.

And, with Fíli being the one who she would soon be be paired with, they had another thirteen years to go before he would be considered an adult himself.

That would give them plenty of time to solve all the problems between Dwarven nobles and Hobbits, the Witch, and their missing kin.

It would allow her people time to heal, and to have a chance at a happier future.

For that reason alone, Bilbo knew she would have agreed to a marriage contract.

But, since she knew who her One was, Bilbo was not sure she could have married anyone besides Fíli.

She doubted he would have married anyone else either.

Though she did doubt his attraction and feelings towards her, Flambard and the other Hobbits had been certain he found her appealing.

Drogo had pointed out that Fíli would want to marry his One, so really the offer would only hurt if she found him a lacking spouse.

She thought long and hard on it, but Bilbo had not been able to think of a single thing that Fíli was lacking in.

He was her One.

_He_ could never fail _her_.

“You seem to be thoughtful tonight, cousin,” Flambard called as he approached with a Hobbit Elder clutching gently at his elbow for balance. Her sons, twin Dwobbits by the names Heldur and Belmur Borman, two of the most talented hunters from Mistfield, followed them with a tray in each hand. Bilbo greeted them all with a warm smile.

“You're looking well, Mistress Borman.” Bilbo's lips quirked as the Borman Family Head tutted at her.

“Clover, sweetling,” she reminded firmly, a soft grin appearing to deepen the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes. “You know my name.”

“Yes, Mistress Clover.” The twins snorted with laughter as their mother swatted at Bilbo's arm when Flambard helped ease her down onto the pillow to Bilbo's left.

“Such cheek! I'd say it's the Took in you, but sweet Bungo was always much more clever with his words,” she said, eyes softening as she looked to her boys. “My hearts have brought us our evening meal. I was hoping you'd join us before going to meet the Eagles.”

“Of course,” Bilbo answered immediately, shifting so that Belmur could drop to her right while Heldur moved to his mother's side. “I always have time for my kin.”

“Well, you certainly try to,” Clover acknowledged, warm grin still in place. “Now, how about some tea? It's some kind of orange blend the Dwarrow carry. Let us see how it stands against our own.”

The boys set to work on getting the four of them properly served. Plates and cups blurred across the table as the two hummed under their breath, passing platters of meats and bowls of a thick soup without even needing to glance at one another.

“I see you two are as close as ever,” Bilbo snorted, eyes twinkling as they both grinned her way. She sipped her tea as they laughed. It was as warm and tickling as the contagious merriment of those around her.

“Of course!” Heldur clapped his hand against his knee as he sat beside his mother. With the other he adjusted the bandanna tied around his forehead. The dark green cloth was embroidered with yellow thread to make Dwarven designs usually worn by marksmen, hunters, and trackers. At the corner was a Hobbitish symbol worn by members of the Borman Clan.

“We'll always be close!” Belmur leaned over to throw an arm around her shoulders when he plopped gracelessly back down on the dirt. He wore a bandanna with identical markings, but his was dark green with golden-brown thread.

“Someone has to look after the numskull,” they said together, turning to glare at one another when they realized it, wooden beads clinking from the speed the two snapped their heads around.

Bilbo laughed right along with their elderly mother.

“Such a handful for this old Hobbit.”

“You're not old, ma!” Belmur's arm tensed slightly around Bilbo's shoulders. She leaned into him briefly, offering her silent support. It was no secret the underage Dwobbits worried their mother would soon leave them alone in the world with neither parent to see them through the many years ahead.

Bilbo had only recently begin to have the same worry. For now that she found him, now that she knew just how much he wanted her in his life, Bilbo had no desire for her sire to leave. She had already lost two parents. Losing Dori wasn't an option.

“That's sweet of you to say, my heart. Let us eat. Our Thain-Heir has much work to do tonight.”

The boys obeyed with just the slightest bit of stress lining their features. Bilbo focused on her meal instead of worrying. She knew Clover would talk after they finished. The best way to get to that point was to eat while the plates were still steaming.

The boys picked up on Bilbo's thoughts quickly. They dug in, telling stories between bites as they worked their way through each dish laid before them. The two ate faster and far more than they usually would, but Bilbo couldn't fault them for that. They seemed to know something of what was on the oddly pensive Clover's mind.

With the meal finished in half the time it would usually take, the boys shot to their feet to gather the dishes. They hurried off, pausing only long enough to kiss their mother and Bilbo on each cheek, before bounding out of the tent like the rough-and-tumble rascals they were.

“They're worried,” Bilbo said the moment they were out of sight. She pinned Clover with a curious look, noting the mother did not deny the claim. “You have something you wish to ask of me.”

“Bungo would be so proud of you, Bilbo. Quick as whip,” she praised. Bilbo smiled in reply, knowing that the Borman Clan had always been close friends with the Baggins Clan. Bungo had been a brother in all but blood to Clover when the now aged Hobbit was a young girl. When they settled in Mistfield, Clover and Bungo had only grown closer as they helped one another raise rambunctious Dwobbits into some semblance of properness. “Have I ever told you about their father?”

Bilbo paused. In truth, she knew very little of the Dwarf who sired her cousins. Clover had once told her he was everything she had ever dreamed of finding in a spouse, but they had not married the Dwarven way because he had gone off to fight in a battle only a week after their traditional Hobbit wedding.

He had returned three years later, in the bed of a Healer's carriage, a breath away from death. After that, Bilbo was not entirely sure what happened. Clover had burst into tears before she could continue, and she had never had the heart to ask her for more information.

“He fought in a battle,” Bilbo answered carefully.

“He did. He wasn't the same after,” Clover's lips twitched, but thankfully no tears welled in her eyes.

“Did he...turn from you?”

“No,” she answered firmly. “No, sweetling. He turned from himself.”

“I'm afraid I don't understand,” Bilbo replied, voice soft as she reached over to hold Clover's weathered hands, worn by time and labor over the course of her rough life. “Please, explain. I will listen.”

And so she did.

Clover spoke of her fierce, wild Dwarf with a roguish grin and a kind heart far bigger and kinder than any she had ever come across. He had keen eyes and a soft tread, something a Borman, being a family of boar and small game hunters, could appreciate it.

The Dwarf was a mountain for little ones to climb, and a hearth for a woman to keep herself warm beside. He was _home_ to Clover, and she was his in turn.

Up until the battle that took him from her.

He had been sent to fight in a small battle. One between Dwarrow and a den of bandits haunting the passes Dwarrow took near the Misty Mountains. He had went willingly after learning of the Dams and pebbles who had been grievously harmed.

Clover found out three months later that she was with child, but she had no way of contacting her love. Since she had yet to marry him by Dwarven law, she could not get word to his kin in the Blue Mountains. And she was not allowed to know his location in order for a Ranger or Hobbit to carry such an important message.

She had no other choice. She had to wait for his return.

And she did.

She waited long after she bore his children, twin sons with brown eyes and black hair streaked with red-brown, for him to return. After three years, three long years of tears and worry, he finally came home.

But he was no longer her Dwarf.

This Dwarf was still, quiet, and never smiling. Gone were the furs, leathers, and feathers made from the game they'd hunted together. Thick bandages took their place. The largest was wrapped around his head to hide a gruesome injury.

He remained that way, sleeping the days away while she waited outside of Erebor, unable to enter to see her love to try and bring him back to her.

He did not wake before she was forced to flee for her life with their children, now five years in age, strapped to her back with thick blankets and a heavy cloak to keep the cold out.

“I mourned him,” she said softly, eyes glassy with anguished tears. “It no longer mattered if he was to wake or not. I would not be there to tell him of his children. I would not be there to welcome him home.”

Bilbo remained silent and assessing. She knew exactly why Clover had chosen to tell her this story after so many years of silence.

“You saw him here,” she said with certainty. “You know he is here, but you do not know if he remembers you.”

Clover nodded, a sob breaking through her trembling lips before she could stop it. “The Thain has promised us that King Thorin did not allow anyone who abandoned their loves to be here. If that is so, then why is he here? Is it because he doesn't remember me? Or is it because he's never forsaken our love? Does he still claim me as his spouse? Does he even know he's married? Would he even recognize an old, wrinkled Hobbit woman with salt-pepper hair instead of rust-colored curls? I do not know. I fear to know.”

Bilbo pulled her close, rocking the Hobbit Elder softly as she crooned a soft sound of love and courage. She whispered reassurances even as her eyes sought Flambard's. He responded to her rapid hand motions with a curt bow, and ran from the tent without making a single noise.

“If he remembers, what would you do,” she asked several minutes later. She nodded to her sons as they returned, both who paused with panic in their eyes before they rushed over to see to their shaken mother.

“I would have him know the truth,” she said softly, wiping her eyes as Heldur gathered his mother close. Belmur wrapped his cloak around her, tucking it in gently while softly running his fingers through her chin-length curls. The Hobbit had kept them short all these years in mourning for the husband that was taken from her.

“Then he shall know,” Bilbo promised. She leaned between two bent heads, ruffling the braided curls softly before kissing the short hair free of any such binding. “I promise you, Mistress Clover, I will make sure he knows. You need only tell me his name.”

Clover smiled through watery eyes, softly whispering her thanks and the name she carried ever faithfully in her heart.

Bilbo moved away, telling her sons to bring their mother to where the Eagles would be landing once she was calmed, and headed outside.

She was instantly flanked by Emli. Flambard joined a moment later with a small bundle the size of his palm in hand.

Bilbo took it without a word, dropping it in Fíli's coat pocket, and continued towards the small clearing a short distance from the tents where a group had already formed a circle.

She looked around for the Dwarf who would be most helpful, and waved down Nori the moment she spotted him near several Dwarrow she had yet to met.

“I'm in need of keen eyes and quick feet,” she said when he was close enough to hear her whispered words.

With an intrigued look, her uncle bowed at the waist and offered his service. She had no problem putting him right to work.

“Bilbo!” She turned just as Nori disappeared from view. She smiled brightly at a waving Ori. Bilbo had quickly grown fond of the Dam. Not only because of their kinship and her defense of Primula, but because her Magic seemed to recognize her somehow. It felt as if she was supposed to be close to Ori. As if she became _better_ at her side, and the Dam would thrive with her near as well. “Join me?”

“Of course.” She moved to the Dam with a curious look thrown to the snickering Dwarf at her newly discovered cousin's side. “What is so amusing?”

“Ah. Nothing. Just remembered something funny,” Kíli said. Bilbo did not believe him for a second. That grin was far too reminiscent of her Took cousins to be trusted. The dirt covering his clothes and the blades of grass in his hair did nothing to help reassure her, either. “So, how will the Eagles arrive?”

“By wings, I'd imagine,” Flambard answered, chortling at the flat look directed his way. “They'll show up much like they did before, but I imagine only the one carrying the message will land to speak with Bilbo.”

Kíli nodded, brow furrowed in thought as he looked at her. “You can really speak with them?”

“Yes.”

“How did you learn?”

“Slowly. Very slowly.” Bilbo had to laugh at his exasperated look as he muttered about 'Hobbit sass' under his breath. “Their language is very difficult. I destroyed my throat the first few weeks of practicing it. If an Eagle wants you to learn their speak, they will begin teaching you. It's up to you to put the effort into it.”

“Oh. So, it's not something you can teach us,” Ori asked.

“No. Their language is sacred. An Eagle has to see you as a nestmate, a sibling, for them to even think of petitioning for the right to teach you.”

“Wow,” Emli breathed, amazement in her eyes. “One of them considers you a sibling? How did that happen?”

Bilbo swallowed the bile that burned the back of her throat as memories assaulted her mind at the innocent question. Eagle cries and Goblin shrieks chased away the sounds of the camp. The clear night sky shifted to one alight with lightning as hail and sleet slammed into bloodstained rock. Agony tore through her heart, as fresh and biting as it had been all those years ago, and her Gift burst forward with love and a sense of safety to guide her back from a living nightmare.

Warm fingers circled her upper arms in the same moment she blinked away the memory. Storming skies were replaced with calm ones as her vision cleared to show blue eyes peering down at her. She smiled in face of Fíli's concern. The cold was soon chased away by the warmth of his touch.

The smile quickly turned to a concerned frown, however, at the sight of a dark bruise blooming across his cheek. Though he had the appearance of someone quickly thrown together after a scuffle, his presence, the very breath of his soul touching the earth to bloom beneath her own feet, was far from unsteady. He seemed centered, somehow.

“Did you get into a fight,” she blurted, noting the other small nicks and bruises swelling in front of her eyes. Fíli hardly seemed concerned with the injuries, but she knew they had not been there before. Her Green Magic would have healed such minor wounds easily.

“More like a debate,” he answered, mustache twitching in his attempt to control his amusement.

Kíli guffawed at this, slapping a hand over his face before turning away. Ori scolded him for being so rude, but her own lips were quirked ever so slightly in a show of amusement.

“Oh? And what kind of debate ends in bruises,” she questioned sharply, running her thumb absently over a long cut at the base of his neck. Green Magic sparked beneath her skin as she swept the digit back and forth a few turns, healing the minor damage in a matter of seconds so that it appeared as if it never existed.

Fíli had frozen at her touch, transfixed by the casual motion and compassionate gesture, and ducked his head to hide the too wide grin. Bilbo had pulled her hand back just in time to avoid getting it caught in his swinging mustache.

“A Dwarven debate,” he answered, eyes crinkled as they stared down at her. Bilbo huffed, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of Dwarrow, and glanced in the direction stomping boots echoed from.

Dwalin, dark glare and fierce snarl in place, ate the ground with thundering steps to hover over Fíli. Bilbo blinked in surprise at seeing the bruise across the burly Captain's nose, but the Ereborian Prince only dipped his chin regally, smile still in place, as if the sight had not surprised him at all.

“Good evening, Dwalin. What can I do for you?”

“Ye can keep yer hands to yerself, pup,” he snarled, reaching out to cuff Fíli in the back of the head. “I told ye to behave.”

“I am!” Fíli stepped away, hands raised in innocence. “I was only checking on her,” he explained.

Dwalin looked as though he believed Fíli as much as she did Kíli, but she stopped him from saying anything by stepping into his space with a raised hand.

He halted immediately, not flinching or defensive, just holding perfectly still with a curious look forcing away the agitation previously shown in his entire countenance. He eyed her, gray eyes meeting silver, and snorted a laugh as she stared him down.

“It's only a bruise, lass,” he rumbled, the rough brogue somehow managing to soothe away the last tendrils of darkness left over from her memories. It was odd to be so comforted by a Dwarf she had never met, but the stories and feelings of her mother and father about this particular Dwarf had always been strong and telling. Belladonna had trusted this Dwarf above even her own Bonded. _Gerontius_ , the most overprotective father she had ever encountered, trusted him with his precious daughter. Part of her could not help but trust him, too. “Ye don't need to work yer magic on such a triflin' hurt.” He caught her fingers gently in one large paw, grinning down at her with the same affectionate look she often received from the Thain. “I know well on how usin' it too much can drain ye.”

Bilbo frowned as he pushed her fingers down. She opened her mouth to argue, but a flash of red behind the Dwarf had her leaning to the side to peer around the Dwarf.

He turned as she did so, grumbling at catching sight of Nori. He made his way swiftly to them with a Dwarf at his back. While her uncle was still showing signs of curiosity, the one she sent him for was frowning heavily behind his bushy beard.

“Bilbo,” Flambard whispered, fingers flicking ever so slightly in a language only the two of them knew. She nodded, glancing where he directed discreetly, and felt a wave of relief at seeing Mistress Clover and her sons waiting nearby.

“Wait here a moment,” she ordered her kin, stepping forward with her eyes only on the now nervous looking Dwarf. He hesitated a moment when she held her hand out, but grasped it with careful consideration to their size difference. “Please, follow me just over that way.”

He nodded, eyes never leaving her face, and walked further into the circle. Bilbo smiled encouragingly at him in an attempt to ease away the troubled frown. She did not doubt he missed the sudden scrutiny of those who were forming a circle around them.

“Worry not,” she said softly. “I only need a moment of your time.”

Bilbo pulled him to stand where she wanted. Though confused, he at least remained calm and had his entire focus on her. At his back, several yards away, she knew Mistress Clover was listening in carefully with her sons blocking her from sight. Bilbo would not allow the Dwarf to see her until she knew for certain of his memories and affections.

“I have something for you.” She pulled the small bundle from Fíli's coat pocket. With gentle fingers, Bilbo cradled the object carefully. “May I?” She reached for his hand once again.

A much larger, scarred hand worn from a life of work settled into her own. He allowed her to turn his wrist and open his palm with no reaction, but rumbled an inquiry when the handkerchief was pressed into his palm.

“Open it.”

He did so with careful, gentle movements. The white edge of the cotton square unfurled to show the contents safely tucked inside. The Dwarf hummed in confusion, but Bilbo said nothing until his gaze traveled back up to lock with her own.

“Clover,” she said simply, watching for any reaction.

He gave one instantly.

The Dwarf flinched. The hand she held trembled as if trying to curl around the delicate plant to keep it safe. Bilbo kept her grip tight to prevent it, but brought up her other hand to cover the plant as the wind picked up.

“You remember her.”

He made a wounded sound. A look of pure anguish burned in his eyes as he spoke brokenly to her in an ancient form of the Dwarven tongue. The earth beneath his feet crooned in sympathy for his pain, knowing it was brought on for the love of one of the Lady's Children.

“You still love her.”

He nodded swiftly, pounding his fist over his heart with his free hand. A moment later he tugged at a mourning braid in his hair, one that was most definitely used by Hobbits, and rotated a wooden bead between his fingers.

It was decorated in symbols. _Hobbitish_ symbols.

Bilbo had zero doubts on which lass' hand carved them. She smiled in relief at seeing the bead still worn after so many years apart.

“You lost much when you went to battle,” she noted, eyes traveling to the scar on his forehead. “The ability to speak to others, your wife, and the dreams of home and family you shared with a Hobbit lass.”

Bilbo squeezed his fingers, glancing up as the wind grew in ferocity. An eagle's cry echoed into the night. It was quickly joined by many others.

Defeat and pain practically radiated from the Dwarf. With his posture slumped and drooping, Bilbo had to lean forward to see his face. Once she was able to get a good look at him, Bilbo could make out the glistening tears clinging to his dark lashes.

She trilled in sympathy, raising both hands once more to gently wipe beneath his eyes. Bilbo pressed her palms into his damp cheeks, cradling them gently as the wind beat down on them, scattering the clovers and lifting their hair to whip around them.

He gave a cry when they flew from his hand, but Bilbo held him steady.

“You still love her.”

He nodded beneath her hands, expression a picture of mourning. It was that expression that had Bilbo truly thinking on the Dwarf's appearance. On his unbraided beard and wild hair. He held very few braids. One to identify, one for Clover, and one marking him as the Head of a Clan.

The beads he wore were all made of wood. There was nothing on his person to represent his high status. He looked almost unkempt. Neglected.

That, for a Dwarf, was the biggest display of mourning. Just as Clover had kept her hair short to show that she still mourned her lost love, it seemed her husband chose to display his own feelings of loss and heartbreak by refusing to tend to his hair and beard the way Dwarrow were known for.

Seeing it, acknowledging the act of a widower for what it was, Bilbo couldn't help but to feel hope. Because if one Dwarf held to his love for a lass he hadn't seen in fifty years, mourning her as if she were gone from the world and out of his reach, then perhaps there were some Dwarrow who could be trusted with a Hobbit's heart.

Perhaps, just maybe, there were some Dwarrow she could trust.

“At peace,” she murmured, pulling from the Dwarf with a gentle smile. She dipped her head to nod at a point behind his back. “Not all is lost.”

The Dwarf turned slowly. He froze with a strangled noise, one more akin to a wounded animal than a living person. Mistress Clover, sweet and kind Clover, cried warm tears as she raised her arms with her two boys at her back.

“She has waited for you to return to her for fifty-five years, Master Bifur. Do not keep her waiting any longer.”

A choked noise escaped the Dwarf. He turned, eyes warm and tearful, and bowed deeply with a fist over his heart. He hurried off before she could make sense of the words he'd rumbled quietly, but the stone beneath her feet resonated with a vow recognized by Mahal.

Bilbo only had a moment to admire the scene of the Dwarf scooping a blushing and grinning Mistress Clover off the ground, spinning her around and cradling her close with her – no, their – sons at her back, before duty had her turning away to face the sky.

The Eagles swooped and twirled, watching her closely as they put on a beautiful performance in the darkening sky. A single Eagle with a missing eye kept steady above them. She did not participate in the antics of her feathered kin, but stayed aloft, flapping strong wings to create powerful gusts around all who stood in and by the circle.

Bilbo smiled brightly up at the Eagle, and tossed her head back in a loud trill.

The Eagles responded cheerfully, clicking their beaks and chirping as they flew, but it was the large female in the center who carefully descended to the ground with a trill of her own.

She landed far more softly than usual with her balance pushed more forward than centered. Bilbo frowned at seeing it. She knew exactly why her companion would land in such a way, but that would mean...

“ _A Hobbit_ ,” she muttered, eyes wide in surprise as a form shuffled from beneath the feathers at her friend's neck. He made his way down carefully, but appeared to flinch when he let go of the feathers to drop to the ground.

Bilbo barely kept herself from recoiling when he touched the ground. The stone and earth both went cold at his presence upon it. A flicker of something sinister slithered through the grass. Bilbo tracked it with a concealed glance around as she shifted to gather up her flowing skirts. Her eyes drifted away with no sign that she'd acknowledged anyone within the crowd.

Instead, she focused on the Hobbit making his way to his feet. He stood with a groan, shoulders rotating in a quick shake as he stretched, and snapped his head around to look at her. Bilbo barely held back a gasp as she swept into a deep curtsy.

“ _A warm hearth to you, Uncle Hildifons_.” The old Hobbit tilted his head in consideration as a low cry came up from near where the royal heads gathered. Gerontius recognized his boy. “ _You do not know me, but I have seen many pictures of you. I am the daughter of your sister, Belladonna_.”

The Hobbit's eyes widened, and he rushed forward with little care for the audience looking on curiously. He must have noticed Gerontius, his beloved father who stared on with tearful eyes, but still he made for her.

Bilbo wasn't remotely surprised when Dwalin suddenly appeared at her back, a growl reverberating a harsh warning through his chest. She was even less surprised when Hildifons continued to march her way without showing a single bit of concern for the Dwarf at her back.

Though aged far more than Belladonna ever had the chance to reach, Bilbo couldn't help but look to the Hobbit and notice how similar they looked. With the same sharp grin and eyes of her mother, she wondered if Belladonna would have looked similar to him had she been gifted a longer slot in life.

“ _I've heard a lot about you, sweet child. The Eagles, especially Gwyneira, speaks fondly of you as one of their own_.” His eyes were kind and sympathetic, but Bilbo was twitching away, something in her knowing what he was going to say before he even continued. “ _I'm told you saved her egg at a great cost to yourself. I'd like to know how you managed it_.” He reached for her then, but her flinch hadn't gone unnoticed by her loyal shadow.

Dwalin snarled roughly, stepping close enough that her shoulders bumped his chest. He glowered at the Hobbit he had no way of knowing, and she reached out to grip his hand before a weapon could find a welcoming home in his curling paw.

“Peace. He only startled me,” she soothed, gripping Dwalin's fingers tightly to hide the tremble that had her hands wanting to shake frantically in attempt to rid herself of dripping blood that wasn't there. Her back burned at the heat rolling off Dwalin. She had to remind herself that the sting in her scars was from that, not from torch fire dancing across bleeding wounds. “This is Hildifons. He is Belladonna's brother.”

Dwalin immediately paused, surprise clear on his face. “The one who went missing?”

“Not missing, my boy. Adventuring!” He waved up at the Eagles, smiling widely as they began to depart. “My friends have taken me many places, and it is them who have brought me back.” He leaned towards Bilbo, Took mischief dancing in his eyes when Dwalin gripped her shoulder to haul her even closer, and whispered, “And I think it's time we have a talk, my dear.”

Bilbo's eyes rose to the King of Dwarrow. Her expression was carefully masked, but she dipped her chin just enough to let him know she was ready to talk.

It seemed it was finally time to lay down their cards.

_Well, most of them._

-LoSF-

Thorin was not entirely sure if he wanted to pace to release restless energy, or shout to relieve bottled stress. Neither seemed like the best option. Not when he finally had Bilbo willing to listen and possibly sign the damned alliance.

Still, he was very close to raging as a quiet discussion continued towards the entrance of the royal tent. The Elderly Hobbit that arrived from the settlement hidden near the Iron Hills was utterly maddening. The bastard was as quick-witted and wild as Belladonna had been, with even less care for those around him.

He seemed overly fond of Bilbo, but it was rather obvious the poor girl did not reciprocate those feelings. She only showed it in the tensing of her shoulders and the minute flinches away when he tried to reach for her, but those were clear enough signs for the Dwarrow.

Bilbo was ill at ease with Gerontius' wayward son, and they all knew it.

Fíli was ready to kill him.

Thorin was considering allowing it if he could promise not to hurt Gerontius, who stood between the two Hobbits with a worried pinch between his brow as he tried to keep his son from bothering his granddaughter too much. He would also make sure Fíli waited until after the debate between the three Hobbits was over.

Truly, Thorin hoped that time would come soon. He was growing tired of watching Bilbo brush off and maneuver the overly touchy Hobbit's hands away from her person with a sharp politeness that echoed with the frigid civility he'd witnessed Dori's mother wield when dealing with anyone who tried to press her for her hand after the death of her beloved second husband.

A glance at the Ri brothers told Thorin they recognized the tone, body language, and overly attentive stare well enough. He was far from surprised. They had both witnessed Lady Bilri perform such an act throughout their childhoods. Truly, it was a wonder Nori had not stabbed the bastard's hands yet.

Or cut them off.

Would hardly be the first time he'd relieved a person of an appendage they couldn't seem to control themselves.

“I believe I've heard enough.” Bilbo's voice snapped through the air, sharp with censure and cold in warning. Dwalin, who stood waiting by her chair, balled his fists with a scowl aimed at the older Hobbit who had been hounding the poor girl. “We will discuss more in private. For now, I must speak with those who offer us an alliance. _Personal_ affairs are hardly welcome at a meeting such as this.”

Hildifons looked ready to argue, but Bilbo turned away without another word. She held her head high, chin up, and shoulders back as she moved on silent feet across the floor.

Thorin had no choice but to hide a grin as the lass' uncle sputtered at the clear dismissal. He was unable to stop the snort when Gerontius patted his son's shoulder with a sympathetic noise and a ' _You get used to it_ ' thrown in.

“We may begin,” Bilbo called once settled into her chair. Dwalin shifted to make sure he was between the lass and her uncle, taking up the spot Flambard would have taken had he returned from the errand Bilbo sent him on before entering the tent. Though Hildifons snorted in amusement, Bilbo sent a soft look to the Dwarf that had him winking down at her in return.

Thorin nodded to hide his own smile. It had been many long years since he felt such a softness through his Bond with Dwalin. It was hard not to be influenced by it.

“You have sufficient proof of my claim?”

“Aye,” she said, glancing only briefly at the Hobbit chuckling at her side. “A representative has been sent to confirm your claims.”

“How did they know to send someone,” Kíli questioned. He flinched when all eyes turned to him, but soldiered on with his chin up. “Bilbo spoke to the Eagles to send them off, but didn't have them take a note. How did the Hobbits know to send someone?”

“I hadn't asked them to bring anyone,” Bilbo explained. “I only asked that they scout to confirm the Dwarrow King's claims.”

His nephew tilted his head in confusion. “Then, how did he know why they are there?”

“Elder Eagles can speak basic Westron if they choose,” she answered with a shrug. “Most do not feel inclined to do so.”

“Very true,” Hildifons exclaimed with a sharp smile towards Bilbo. She returned it with a blank stare. “Still, it is not the Common Tongue they spoke in. I heard their calls and left the shelter to see what was going on. I chose to come back with them when they mentioned my lovely niece having sent them.”

“Oh?” Kíli seemed rather intrigued. Beside him, tense as a strung bow, Fíli hissed for his brother to be silent. “Then you must speak their language, too! Are you considered a nestmate like Bilbo?”

“I am!” He seemed rather pleased with himself, but there was something about his overzealous cheer that set Thorin on edge. The fact that Gerontius was glowering at his son did little to put the King at ease. “Though, I must admit, dear boy, Bilbo is considered far closer than I. It took me thirty years to prove myself to them, but Bilbo did so in a single night! Isn't that extraordinary?”

“Oh. Er, yes. It is.” It seemed Kíli finally picked up on the frigid tension between uncle and niece. He looked uneasy for being the cause of Bilbo's obvious discomfort, but he managed to summon a warm smile to try and soothe the atmosphere. “Bilbo's really amazing.”

“She is! Did you know, she saved an egg?” Bilbo and Gerontius both barked something in Hobbitish at the seemingly smug Hobbit. “An egg! I've been wondering how she managed it. Eagles don't let anyone near their nests, let alone the eggs! I must say, if I'm being honest, that I'm quite jealous.”

“Hildifons, watch your mouth,” Gerontius warned. “I already told you to drop it.”

“Oh, but Prince Kíli was asking! Rather rude of me not to answer, don't you think?” That smile was one Belladonna wore when she was being particularly vindictive. Thorin almost wished Dwalin would act on the anger he felt through their Bond. Nothing good would come from whatever the Hobbit was about to say. “Really, how dearest Bilbo managed to get herself caught up with slavers and trappers in the first place is beyond me. Even the Eagles refused to tell me! Can you believe that? And I've been friends with them for seventy years!”

Dwalin wouldn't need to punch him. _He_ was going to bury the jealous shitling for making Bilbo's expression snap closed to block out even the smallest hint of herself. Gerontius seemed to be of the same mind as he, if the growled Hobbitish was anything to go by.

“I really think–” Kíli's rough words were cut off before he could warn the Hobbit to be silent.

“Seventy years, Prince Kíli! And _I_ have never been allowed near one in all my days. Now, how is that possible,” he huffed, completely oblivious the silver head slowly turning towards him. “ _She_ was able to find and hide one away. Just how she managed to keep it alive while in the company of such monstrous folk, well, I suppose I'll never know. Still, the Eagles assure me she saved their precious egg from harm. Makes you wonder just how she managed to keep it hidden.” He finally turned his head to look towards his niece, and stuttered to a halt at whatever emotion he saw in her eyes.

“Uncle,” she began softly, voice a whisper of metal being drawn, “I've told you to drop this conversation. It is not your place.”

“Not my place?” He laughed, bitter and loud. Thorin suddenly remembered _why_ this brother went on an adventure. He didn't fit in with the other Hobbits. Belladonna had mentioned him being somewhat unhinged, but Thorin never thought that lass' brother would end up being a complete bastard. She always spoke lovingly of his oddities, thinking him eccentric and unique in his daydreams. _This_ bastard was nothing like the brother Belladonna described with pride and affection.

“No,” Bilbo said simply, turning away from the Hobbit, “most definitely not.”

“And why not?” He actually sounded upset. “I deserve to know. I've been trying for decades to see an egg, but have yet to be allowed. You just went out and _found_ one and hid it away. How did you manage it? How could you do something that _I_ have been unable to do?”

Bilbo chose to ignore him. “My apologies for this one,” she said simply, dipping her chin to Thorin. “He spent many years around beasts and birds. He forgets his manners at times.”

“The cheek!” He seemed amused rather than offended. “Very much like Belladonna, indeed! Say, the Eagles mentioned my precious sister. They are of the opinion you were out in the wilderness as a child because of her foolishness, and that was what led to you being acquainted with those thugs who were hunting the Eagle egg. Say, did they really manage to capture you? Or did you allow it in order to rescue the egg? Or were you captured because you kept the egg hidden? I've always wanted to know.”

Thorin didn't shoot to his feet in outrage only because a whisper of _something_ went through the stone. It spoke of patience, and warned of a coming storm.

Bilbo said nothing. She offered no answer. She did, however, turn back to her uncle with a lazy tilt of her head. Her smile, predatory and _hungry_ , sent a chill down his spine.

Mahal, but it was like staring down a _Dragon_.

“You are rather obsessed. Nearly fae in your regard, I'd say,” she noted. There was an odd note to her voice. It was so faint that Thorin would have thought he imagined it, but the Thain suddenly tensing and shifting as if preparing himself to jump out of the way if needed told him otherwise.

“Fae?!” Now he sounded offended. His voice rose to a shrill level that rang painfully in Thorin's ears. “Hardly! I'm only curious, sweetheart. Don't you think it odd that you suddenly just found an egg in the middle of the day? Just walked up in broad daylight and hid such a giant thing. And not a soul noticed! Truly, what luck!”

“Indeed. Quite lucky.”

Bilbo's voice, deeper and echoing with the rumbling tones Dwarrow were known for, fell like a hammer strike. She was out of her seat and holding her uncle by the throat in a blink.

Dwalin shifted on his feet, unsure of what to do. Gerontius, however, began stepping away with a sweeping motion for the Dwarf to follow. He did, though reluctantly, and took up a protective position in front of Old Took.

“What is the meaning of this,” Hildifons cried, eyes wide and watering from the tight hold Bilbo had on the Hobbit's throat. She held him aloft, the tips of his toes kicking uselessly a hair above the ground, and smiled cheerfully at her uncle. “This is no way to behave!”

“Certainly not,” she agreed. “Very rude of you to ruin what could have been a nice welcoming. Now, tell me, what have you done to my uncle?”

Everyone paused at her words, looking to one another in confusion, but said nothing as the silence stretched. It was Thranduil who first realized what Bilbo was speaking of. He stood with a snarl, stepping protectively in front of his son as Tauriel took up a position in front of her king. The quick actions were enough to clue everyone else in.

“The Witch,” Thorin growled, fingers curling into fists. “The Witch has him.”

Feverish eyes slanted towards him. He watched in morbid fascination eyes black veins slowly pulsed into existence. A toothy grin twisted the possessed Hobbit's features. “I do,” a woman's voice crooned. He shivered at hearing the high pitch of the evil being's voice. “I do! I do! But _how_ did you know, dearie? What gave me away?”

“While it is true my uncle has been described as a bit mad and wild in manner, he was never mentioned to me as a being of cruelty. In fact, it was his great love of life and love that sent him out the door in search of both,” Bilbo answered simply. “Also, you mentioned my finding an egg in the middle of the day.”

“I did. So?”

“So,” Bilbo began, leaning forward with a feral grin, “not even when under the pain of torture did I ever whisper such a fact. To know so, means only one thing. I'm sure you know what that is.”

A howling laugh escaped the Hobbit's mouth. The Witch seemed entirely delighted. Her sickening giggles set his skin to crawling.

“How grand you are! Marvelous! Truly, you will be the masterpiece to my collection,” she praised, controlling the Hobbit's body so that arms reached for Bilbo. “Join me. You must join me. I must have you. Together we can rule! Queens we shall be!”

“I decline.” Bilbo shifted her weight to pull the body further into the air. “Now, leave my uncle's body.”

“Oh, but I've only just acquired my new toy! I'm rather attached,” she cackled. “Besides, he's a Took! I do have a soft spot for them. They have such interesting Gifts!”

“Leave him, or I will _rip you out_ ,” Bilbo explained, voice colder than an Ice Dragon's breath. “I assure you, you blighted wrench, I'll not be gentle in doing so.”

The body ceased trying to reach for Bilbo in the same moment the laughter stopped. The Witch did not speak. Though Hildifons body still twitched as if some part of him were trying to fight off the possession, the Witch didn't attack at the insult in the way Thorin expected she would.

“You wouldn't dare,” Her tone dipped, twisting into something dark and sinister.

“I would.”

“I'll bite his tongue,” she snarled, making Gerontius gasp. His pain earned a wicked smile from the Witch's puppet. “Oh, did I upset you? How terribly rude of me. Best not to push sweetheart. Even if you knock the body out, I can still control all the functions the muscles are capable of,” she purred.

Thorin expected rage from Bilbo. He hadn't expected her to cock an unimpressed brow at the Witch and let go of the bruised throat in the same moment a sharp elbow slammed mercilessly into the much older Hobbit's jaw. A sickening crunch followed instantly by bellows of pain had Thorin wincing.

“There. Now the jaw is dislocated. Good luck biting anything.” Bilbo turned to the entrance of the tent, eyes bright with a cold anger. “Flambard, the Witch has revealed herself. Bring the bastard responsible for her off location possession in.”

Thorin stared, gaping and wide eyed like a fool, as several Hobbits and Dwobbits forced a gagged and bound Man into the room. Alfrid Lickspittle, the representative of Lake-town, yelled behind the gag while waving his tied wrists.

Flambard held no sympathy or care for the filth as he shoved the Man forward. Alfrid stumbled and fell a few feet in front of Bilbo. Flambard stood behind him, rotating several small objects in his hands, while the other four who had accompanied him made a wall at the entrance. Two of the four Thorin recognized as the boys who had been with the woman Bifur embraced earlier.

“So, this is the one who struck my long lost uncle,” Bilbo said coolly. She dipped her chin at Flambard after looking over the growling Man. The Hobbit removed the gag and easily sidestepped the spit aimed at his feet. “Thank you, Flambard. Step back.”

“Who the 'ell are you,” Alfrid sneered. “I didn't do nothin'. Didn't attack no one's uncle.”

“Oh?” Bilbo glanced at the Hobbit at her feet just beginning to stand. “Is this not the Man you've been using to possess those nearby? It was unfortunate for you that I was there to witness the possession as it began.” She looked back to Alfrid, eyes sharp and assessing. “Uncle Hildifons may be in his nineties, but he is still rather fit. The fact that his hair has yet to turn completely white, what happens with all Took males towards the end, is proof of that. You were the reason he flinched and fell when climbing off the Eagle. You hit him with something given to you by her.”

Alfrid stuttered, eyes wide in shock, but rallied himself quickly to begin defending himself. Flambard silenced him with a stone to the back of the head when the first thing out of his mouth was an insult towards Bilbo.

Completely unbothered by the display, Bilbo turned to the growling Hobbit hunched over in front of her.

“Don't tell 'er nuttin,” the Witch's voice, distorted by the hanging jaw, snapped through the air.

“Oh, he certainly will. He talks, or he dies.”

Alfrid sputtered, eyes wide in fear. “You can't do that! I'm an ally! I'm here–”

“You are here on open lands of neutral territory that no one may lay claim to,” she explained. “There's no law in the free lands. You would survive by the charity of others. Once King Thorin over there realizes you were responsible for getting information to the Bandits that attacked _and_ the one who has been making it possible for the wretched creature to possess them while so far away...well, I'm sure even someone like _you_ has enough brain power to figure out the consequences.”

Alfrid paled even before Thorin locked eyes with the coward. His kin were stone and forge flame around them, ready to condemn the Man for what he did to their youths.

“This _filth_ has been helping the Witch?” Thorin looked to Bilbo.

“Aye,” she answered immediately. “I sensed something through the stone and earth with the Bandits gathered here, but he was too far away at the time to know. In the field, he struck my uncle with something. If the earth spoke true, which she always does, then it's a very small needle. More like a thorn, really. I'm sure if I check my uncle's neck, it will be there. In fact, I already made sure it was there while I was holding him. Still, I'd like to get a look at it to confirm my thoughts.”

“Which are?”

“The thorn will be made of blood. Blood, bone, and hair forged together to make something small and nearly untraceable. Having a piece of the Witch's body allows for a direct possession. Still, it's not strong enough with a fresh sample,” she turned cold eyes on Alfrid. “Which is why Flambard was sent for the weasel. So, where's the blood? You're carrying some of her blood on you, right?” Her lips twitched into a predatory smile, teeth flashing in the candlelight as her eyes seemed to glow. “I can smell the blight of her blood upon you.”

A shriek of rage ripped from Hildifons before Alfrid could muster up a reply. The Hobbit lunged for Bilbo in the same moment Dwalin surged forward, but she sidestepped and brought an elbow down on the Hobbit's back while bringing a knee up to slam up high into his chest.

The Hobbit dropped as a loud snap sounded through the air. A pained wheeze that sounded both furious and panicked left the Hobbit in the Witch's voice.

“Y-your own k-kin,” she wheezed. “Broke.”

“Broke? Yes, I broke his spine. Can't have you getting your hands on something and killing him, now can I? I can mend a broken spine. I can't bring back the dead. Besides, I already told you,” she said, leaning down to stare into the possessed eyes blown wide in pain. “You _will_ remove yourself from my uncle, or I will _force you out_.”

Thorin jolted back in a fully bodied flinch at the quaking rage in Bilbo's voice. He'd heard it plenty of time of the battlefield, but never from one so young. And _never_ in such a way that he felt the cold breath of death against his neck.

“Never. You give you–”

“Give myself away,” Bilbo purred, eyes nearly growing with some unknown power. “You think so little of me, for one who wants me so badly. Tell me, are you acting on orders of another? Or are you in charge?” A flicker of some unknown emotion appeared on Hildifons face, but Thorin couldn't read it. Bilbo, however, grinned. “Ah. You don't have permission to be doing this. Tell me, little one, what will happen to you if your _betters_ return to find a chunk of your Gift stripped away? I'd very much like to know which one of us has the most to lose in this situation. I doubt it is me.”

A look of pure, unrestrained terror twisted Hildifons features before black smoke began pouring from the Hobbit's mouth and ears.

Bilbo dove the moment it began with a bark of Hobbitish. Two Hobbit lasses broke from the entrance and were next to the Bilbo, hands glowing brightly as Hobbitish fell from their lips, before the smoke full disappaited.

Bilbo, surprisingly, did not reach out to help them. Instead, confusing him, she held a hand over each of the lasses. At first, Thorin thought she was going to comfort them. Then, after a second, gold light lit from Bilbo's hands to shine upon the younger Hobbits.

As the stone jolted to life and whispered praises to Lady Yavanna, the lasses own light burned far brighter than before. So bright that the old Hobbit laid out on the ground, groaning softly, couldn't be seen.

“What in Mahal's name?”

Thorin nodded at Dís' confused mutter. He glanced over to respond to his sister, but his eyes were instead on Kíli and Fíli.

Kíli, his fearless little raven, was staring in both horror and awe at something over Bilbo's shoulder. Fíli, on the other hand, looked as though the treasures of Mahal himself were being laid out before him. Considering the odd reactions, he didn't doubt their unique Stone Sense were giving them information he couldn't see or feel.

“Grandfather,” Bilbo called, dropping her hands as she ruffled the curls on the lasses heads as they leaned heavily on their knees with gasping breaths. “He is fully healed. I suggest having the twins take him to the tent to rest. He's been through a horrible ordeal.” She glanced back at Alfrid before returning her eyes to the Thain. “I suggest going with him. You being there when he wakes will soothe any worries or confusion he may have.”

“Aye,” Thain said, voice low and cracking. He moved to Bilbo's side and gently held her face in one hand. “I'm so sorry you had to do that,” he whispered as tears fell from his eyes. “I know how much it hurts you to harm one of our own.”

Bilbo said nothing in response, but made a quick sign towards the two Dwobbits by the door. They both rushed forward as one entity, reminding Thorin strongly of his nephews, and dropped beside the three Hobbits one the ground.

One gathered Hildifons while the other picked up the two lasses with soft words in Hobbitish. They fell in line at the Thain's shoulders, smiled grimly at Bilbo, and urged the Hobbit out slowly. The entire time, Bilbo didn't pull her eyes away from a small drop of blood belonging to Hildifons on the ground.

“Bilbo,” Flambard said after a few minutes passed in tense silence.

The Dwobbit moved with a deadly grace towards Alfrid. She crouched in front of him, but said nothing for another few minutes. When she finally spoke, her voice was so tightly reigned that it was a wonder it didn't snap from her lips like the bellow of a beast.

“I broke the bones and spilled the blood of my kin, of one I am meant to protect with my very life, because of you. I want you to think on that very carefully before you answer me. Now, you're going to tell me everything I want to know. Do you understand?”

Thorin wasn't surprised when the coward nodded.

“Good. First, tell me how you came to be in contact with that wayward Dwobbit. Then, you'll be handing over the blood I smell coming from your inner coat pocket.”

Alfrid let out a frightened wheeze, but Thorin barely heard. His mind had stuttered to a halt on what Bilbo just said.

“Wayward what?”

“Dwobbit,” she answered. “Your Shadow Witch is a Dwobbit fallen from Yavanna's Grace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for Next Chapter
> 
> If there was one thing Flambard could change, it would be his own uselessness. If he could change that one thing, that one little thing, he would have prevented so many bad memories from ever being created to haunt sweet Bilbo.
> 
> One such memory, the one he would gladly give his own life to change, was the one she still bore scars on her soul over.
> 
> That memory involved the very first Dwarf she'd ever met, corrupted Men, a Eagle's missing egg, and a Dwobbit so very far from home. It left her with more than just the scars on her back. It had been the one adventure his younger cousin almost did not return from.
> 
> And it had been all his fault.
> 
> Flambard bore that knowledge in silence, because Bilbo didn't wish to speak on it. She didn't blame him, not even once, but he certainly blamed himself for the pain, nightmares, and scars. Watching Bilbo try and shut away the rolling fury he could see in her eyes as she stared the Lake weasel down, the guilt suddenly felt far heavier.
> 
> “A Dwobbit,” Bard echoed in disbelief. He seemed as shocked as everyone else, but Flambard couldn't image why. They were dealing with someone with an odd ability no other race knew about, someone who could make the land sick, and someone who was somehow able to hide themselves in Erebor.
> 
> A Dwobbit really shouldn't be much a surprise at that point.
> 
> “Yes,” Bilbo answered.
> 
> “One who has fell from Yavanna's Grace,” Thranduil said softly. “I see. That is what you meant by saying 'wayward'. And a Hobbit, or Dwobbit in this case, who turns from the teachings of the Earth Mother, your beloved Green Lady, does not bring about good fortune to the land.”
> 
> “Quite right. Though, from what I have observed so far, it may be a bit different.”
> 
> “How do you mean,” Thorin demanded.
> 
> “I will get to that,” Bilbo said, flapping a hand over her shoulder at the Mountain King. “For now, I have questions for this one.”
> 
> Alfrid flinched away at his cousin's piercing gaze, but didn't try to run. Flambard wasn't sure if it was because he was so scared, or if it was because he knew Bilbo would break his legs.
> 
> With her current mood, Flambard wasn't entirely certain she'd make them clean breaks.


	23. TWENTY THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope everyone is doing well. I am back from visiting family, so will be doing my best to update twice weekly again. Thank you for everyone who took the time to comment. I appreciate your kind thoughts. Thank you!

-LoSF-

If there was one thing Flambard could change, it would be his own uselessness. If he could change that one thing, that one little thing, he would have prevented so many bad memories from ever being created to haunt sweet Bilbo.

One such memory, the one he would gladly give his own life to change, was the one she still bore scars on her soul over.

_That_ memory involved the very first Dwarf she'd ever met, corrupted Men, a Eagle's missing egg, and a Dwobbit so very far from home. It left her with more than just the scars on her back. It had been the one adventure his younger cousin almost did not return from.

And it had been all his fault.

Flambard bore that knowledge in silence, because Bilbo didn't wish to speak on it. She didn't blame him, not even once, but he certainly blamed himself for the pain, nightmares, and scars. Watching Bilbo try and shut away the rolling fury he could see in her eyes as she stared the Lake weasel down, the guilt suddenly felt far heavier.

“A Dwobbit,” Bard echoed in disbelief. He seemed as shocked as everyone else, but Flambard could not even begin to image why. They were dealing with someone with an odd _ability_ no other race knew about, someone who could make the land sick, and someone who was somehow able to hide themselves in Erebor.

A Dwobbit really should not be much a surprise at that point.

“Yes,” Bilbo answered.

“One who has fallen from Yavanna's Grace,” Thranduil said softly. “I see. That is what you meant by saying 'wayward'. And a Hobbit, or Dwobbit in this case, who turns from the teachings of the Earth Mother, your beloved Green Lady, does not bring about good fortune to the land.”

“Quite right. Though, from what I have observed so far, it may be a bit different.”

“How do you mean,” Thorin demanded.

“I will get to that,” Bilbo said, flapping a hand over her shoulder at the Mountain King. “For now, I have questions for this one.”

Alfrid flinched away at his cousin's piercing gaze, but did not try to run. Flambard was not entirely sure if it was because he felt such fear, or if it was because he knew Bilbo would break his legs.

With her current mood, Flambard was not entirely certain she would make them clean breaks.

“How did you meet the one called Shadow Witch?”

Alfrid shook his head, breathing heavily as he trembled. Flambard frowned as he realized just how shallow the breaths were. In the very next moment, Bilbo cursed and lunged forward to catch the Man as he tipped forward.

“Is he...” Bard trailed off.

“Fainted. Coward through and through,” Bilbo muttered before gently laying him down on his side. Flambard rushed forward when she began undoing the ties keeping his coat tightly shut.

“Let me, cousin,” he said quickly, putting himself between Bilbo and her task. “I'll find the blood he's carrying.”

“Very well,” Bilbo sighed, eyeing the Man twitching on the ground. “He'll only faint again if I wake him immediately. Bastard is in shock.”

“Not to fret,” Nori suddenly popped up at his shoulder, leaning forward with gloved hands to push his own out of the way. “I'll search 'im. Best no' play wit' blood without gloves on first,” he explained. “After, I'll 'ave him moved to an isolated tent. He'll 'ave plenty of guards on 'im.”

Bilbo frowned, but did not argue. She stepped away, eyes never leaving Alfrid's form, and motioned for Flambard to join her. He was all too happy to.

“Who will be interrogating him?”

“We'll take care of it,” Nori answered immediately. “I'll give ye a report. If ye want to 'ave a go after, I'll bring ye to 'im m'self.”

Bilbo agreed after a moment of thought. Flambard knew his cousin was the best person for asking the correct questions, but she did not find joy in harming others. She'd certainly not go out of her to help someone who had harmed her kin, but that did not mean Bilbo wished to watch any living being be tortured.

Flambard was about to suggest she return to her seat when her nose suddenly wrinkled as her lips pursed. He would have asked what was wrong, but the smell hit him before he could.

He shivered and flinched away from the revolting odor coming from the glass jar with a rubber stopper. The thick substance wouldn't carry a scent for anyone without Hobbit blood, but it was the foulest thing imaginable for anyone favored by Yavanna's Grace.

He couldn't stop himself from turning around to gag. A guilty wave of gratitude and relief flowed through him when Bilbo reached out to pull his head against her neck. The scent of her magic chased away the rot, filling his lungs with the scent of both familiar flowers and that of blooms he had never before smelled. He sagged against her with a cough.

“I suggest you keep that away from my kin,” Bilbo warned when Nori stood.

“Make ye sick,” he asked, rolling his eyes when Gandalf strolled over from the back corner of the tent to pluck the substance from the Dwarf's hand just as he moved to slide it in a leather pouch.

“I would imagine it is highly unpleasant for a Hobbit's strong sense of smell,” he muttered, shaking the jar to splash the substance around. Flambard's stomach lurched at the fresh burst of decay it sent into the air. Bilbo crooned a soft noise of sympathy in his ear while glaring at the Wizard. “This carries the essence of tainted earth. A Hobbit connected to the Green Lady would be able to smell the corruption within the soil.”

“Give it to me,” Radagast demanded, rushing over with his hand extended. “I'll see if I can make any sense of what's in there.”

“Don't spill any on the earth,” Bilbo warned. “It will cause that spot and a good bit of land around it to begin to wither.” He nodded with a low bow to them both before rushing out. Once he was gone, Bilbo turned sharp eyes on the watchful Wizard. “Yes?”

“You've known all along a Dwobbit was responsible,” he accused. Flambard couldn't help but snort against Bilbo's shoulder.

“You would have known to, Wizard, had you not been so certain anything related to a Hobbit was beyond corruption,” he answered. Bilbo snickered as she ran her fingers carefully through his curls.

“Flam is right, Gandalf. It was fairly obvious from the beginning of all this mess that something connected to the _earth_ was responsible for the corruption.”

“How so?”

“Thrór for one.”

“What? Thrór?”

“Well, yes. He shouldn't even need to be explained,” Bilbo muttered, then sighed when Gandalf only stared at her. “Well, maybe not to _intelligent_ minds.”

Thranduil chuckled at Gandalf's offended look. Flambard was really beginning to enjoy that Elf's sense of humor. It was very Tookish with a large splash of Baggins respectability. It was little wonder the King of Greenwood and Thain-Heir of Mistfield got along so well.

“The symbol the Dwarrow found had elements not known to them. It was found hidden among _flowers_ , Gandalf. Even if you managed to forget the Hobbitish runes that decorated nearly every inch of the Shire before it fell, you should have noticed the looping designs that Hobbits favor within the mark. The flowers the mark was hidden in are ones only found on a mountain. They are _flowers_ that grow with the aide of _stone_. The mix of two cultures would suggest either a culprit born to both, or one married into the second.”

Gandalf glared down at his cousin, but Flambard could only chuckle as he straightened himself. Her eyes were immediately on him.

“I'm alright,” he assured the worries swimming in her steady gaze. “Just need to stay clear away from that awful potion.”

“Aye,” she agreed, moving towards her chair at his urging. “Would be best if none of us are forced to smell it.”

“And _you_ shouldn't be anywhere near it,” he grumbled, adjusting the Prince's jacket around his cousin's shoulders so that it kept more heat in. “You know things touched by evil drain you. Beorn is going to carry you off when he hears you were going to pick it up yourself.”

“Best not to tell him, eh?” The cheeky grin disappeared quickly when Bilbo looked to the Dwarven King. “While I do believe your claim to have saved my kin, I will have to wait to question Uncle Hildifons about the settlement and the treatment Hobbits have received there.”

The King nodded and glanced to him. Confused by the attention, Flambard cocked a brow in askance. “Would you like to take a seat? You both look pale.”

“Sweet little Bil-lee-bo here is always pale, Majesty. Living moonlight.”

Bilbo set a baleful glare on him before snorting. “I will cut you.”

“Aye, but you'd heal me after. Takes a bit of the threat away.”

“I'll have Lobelia do the tending.”

“Ah,” Flambard said, frowning down at his cousin. “Now, that _is_ a threat. She'd stitch me the way Healers of Men do. I'd bet my best dagger Miss Lobelia would embroider it somehow, too. We both know she's still cross with me. Honestly, how was _I_ ever supposed to know the difference between real and fake silver? She should have asked one of the Dwobbits.” Bilbo snorted a laugh, but said nothing else. Flambard returned his attention to the twitching face of King Thorin. “I'll be fine standing, Majesty.”

Flambard found himself lifted and dropped in the chair beside his smirking cousin before he even realized someone was behind him. Scowling at the overly muscular Dwarf, Flambard straightened his clothes with a huff. He was careful not to lose any of the metal ball barrings he received from a town of Men tucked into hidden pockets. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to know of his hidden weapons. The barrings, after all, were much more deadly than walnuts and acorns.

“Rude,” he addressed Master Dwalin with a shake of his finger. “Hobbits like to keep their feet on the ground. I suggest you remember that.”

“Aye. I'll make note of it,” Dwalin said with all the seriousness of a faunt promising not to steal any sweets before dinner. Flambard returned the tone with a truly unimpressed look.

“Flam, just sit with me. You don't need to guard my back at the moment. The Witch won't try to attack. The Weasel of the Lake had nothing else on him made from her body, and I didn't sense a curse of any sort upon his person. If he dies tonight, it won't be due to any forced control.”

“Forced control,” Bard parroted. “Meaning you believe someone in this camp might be following the Witch of their own free will?”

Bilbo nodded. “It would be a Dwarf or Man. No Hobbit born with Yavanna's Grace would help one such as her, and the light of an Elf would dim if accepting of such evil. Also, I highly doubt a corrupted Dwobbit would work with an Elf.”

“But why would _anyone_ work with such evil willingly?”

“Gain or personal reasons,” Flambard answered simply. “Someone angry at the Dwarrow, maybe?”

“Or who has a personal grudge against the Line of Durin,” Bilbo muttered, making Flambard hum in thought.

“They do have a rather large collection of enemies.”

“Wait a minute,” Thorin interjected. “Why would you think that to start with?”

“That oily bastard can hardly be trusted by anyone who hires him on. He'd spill all for a good price, or the right threat. He'd only be allowed to move freely as he as if a watcher was put on him. One that is trusted by the Witch.”

“She has a point there,” Bard murmured.

“We will look into that later,” Thorin said, voice calm but still loud enough to smother all other noise. “For now, I'd like to discuss what in Mahal's bloody forge just happened?”

Bilbo gasped lightly, throwing up a mock offended look that reminded Flambard strongly of Belladonna. By the pained yet warm look on Dori's face, he suspected the Dwarf thought the same.

“Such language,” she tutted, turning wide eyes on him. “Did you hear that, Flam?”

“Aye,” he said solemnly. “Not even close to how you were behind Bungo's back as a tween.”

“I would _never_.”

Flambard chortled at the prim sniff that would have sent her mother into hysterics. “As you say, my dear. Still, best get to answering questions. No matter how much we both would rather not.”

Sighing, Bilbo looked around the room to take stock of who all resided within the tent. She didn't seem overly concerned, so Flambard relaxed into his seat knowing he wouldn't need to remove anyone just yet.

“These are Hobbit secrets,” she said, glancing at Gandalf. “Ones closely guarded, and very rarely revealed.” Her eyes moved to Víli. Flambard hummed in surprise at that. Though he suspected dear Bungo told the Master Archer about his Gift and the way they worked, he hadn't had any proof before now. “For a Hobbit to tell any soul that doesn't carry the touch of Yavanna's Grace, they have to claim them as kin before the Green Lady and mark them as kinsman. That mark reveals them as an Honorary Hobbit, and our secrets may be spoken with before them and any they trust. So, what do you say, Master Víli? Do you believe all within these walls will keep our secrets?”

All eyes turned to the surprised Dwarf. Thorin, looking rather thunderstruck at the discovery, said something in that rumbling, growling language Dwarrow spoke in that he could not ever hope understand. Bungo had tried to teach him right alongside Bilbo, of course, but he just never had the knack for languages that those two did.

“Yeah, what uncle said!” Kíli waved his hand towards his father. “What mark?”

“There is no mark,” Fíli mumbled, looking confused as he stared at his father.

“Aye, I 'aven't seen one on ye. And we bathed together last week.” Bilbo's uncle appeared to be rather offended for not having noticed something so important.

“There is a mark. Bungo put it there himself,” Bilbo explained around a sigh. “I believe it's hidden within a Dwarven rune that was already there.”

“The tattoo on your arm,” asked Kíli. “The one for our family motto?”

“Aye,” Víli answered, shrugging at the looks Frerin, Thorin, and Nori tossed at him. “I told you all Bungo was my chosen brother. He could have marked my forehead for all I cared. I would have worn it proudly.”

Much to his surprise, soft giggles escaped Bilbo as she ducked her head to try and contain her mirth. When she looked up again, her eyes were crinkled in the corners. “Bungo wouldn't have made you walk around with a Hobbitish rune on your forehead. A rune like that glows fairly bright when viewed by us.” She tipped her head back, smiling lightly at Dwalin. “My mother, as you probably realized just now, played a little prank when marking you.”

The guard huffed a laugh as he ran a hand over the Dwarven runes on his head. “Aye. Lass hid the mark in the runes. Didn't know it shone like a campfire.”

“Well, looks more like a halo,” Flambard offered, smirking with the Dwarf glared at the thought. “Aunt Bella always had an odd sense of humor.”

“Don't worry. You're not blinding anyone. You're just very easy to spot.” Bilbo's calm words did nothing to stop the Dwarf's grousing. “It's really alright. Master Víli has a dull light we can see through the fabric covering the mark, so most Hobbits were at least a little comfortable around him. They won't trust with that alone, but it does help ease things. Having such a direct claim on your person made my kin feel a little safer with you around.”

“Why can't Dwalin stand for us,” Kíli asked suddenly.

“My mother put the mark on him when she was young, but she was ordered from the mountain before she had a chance to tell him,” Bilbo explained, eyes suddenly distant. “A Hobbit has to be considered an adult to tell an outsider about Gifts. By the time my mother was of age, she was living in the Hobbit settlement instead of with the Fundin brothers. Master Dwalin–”

“Just Dwalin, lass.”

“– _Dwalin_ was approved of by Lady Yavanna to receive the mark of kinship, but has yet to be given the knowledge that Master Víli has. He cannot vow for your silence if he doesn't even know the secrets being told.”

“Probably a good thing ye ain't askin' me,” Dwalin growled, eyes flashing towards a stone-faced Frerin. Flambard did his best not to feel the simmering rage pressing against the earth beneath the Dwarf's boots. As one touched by Yavanna, the earth felt his emotions just as it would a Hobbit.

Gandalf, like a mirror of the Dwarf's mood, grumbled at hearing yet another member of the Durin family had been marked by a Hobbit. Obviously displeased for not having been offered one himself, the Wizard sent a wounded look skywards before looking pointedly at Víli. “Well, you have a mark. Would you stand for us?”

“Aye.” His answer was immediate. “I trust them not to reveal the secrets of Hobbits told to me by Bungo Baggins.”

Bilbo dipped her head in acknowledgment before meeting the eyes of the Stone King. “Your grandfather tried to have all _magic_ Hobbits captured. What do you think that meant?”

“Well,” he thought for a moment, “the magic you just showed when helping your kin to heal the Witch's victim. The same magic you used to heal Fíli, Kíli, and Ori. Green Magic?”

Bilbo shook her head. “No. Green Magic is something _all_ Hobbits can use. We use it to pull on the energy within the soil, _untainted_ soil, to borrow a bit of Yavanna's strength to survive. We use it for healing, hiding, and growing things. If that Hobbit if proficient in Green Magic, then the land itself will help guide them.”

“Ah,” Víli said suddenly, looking amused. “So, the hunting during the march to get here was Green Magic?”

“Something like that,” Bilbo shrugged as Flambard fought to keep a scowl off his face. Even if they were going to be explaining the concept of Gifts to them, that did not mean they were going to be explaining Bilbo's rare ability.

Though, as he thought about it, he did see the appeal in explaining the heavy price Bilbo's body paid for holding such a powerful Gift in her small frame. He wanted them to understand it was _their_ fault his cousin suffered. Had they not put the Hobbits in danger by being so soft-footed about their King, refusing to tell the Hobbits what was going on due to the need to protect the pride of a royal line, Bilbo would have inherited a much more harmless Gift. One that did not demand such a high price for the use of it.

As if sensing his dark thoughts, Bilbo hummed beside him. To everyone else it would sound as if she were simply gathering her thoughts, but the thoughtful noise was only a surface noise. The real message was beneath in the form of a low clicking noise in the back of her throat, too soft and high in pitch for anyone but a Hobbit and Skin-changer to hear.

_'Be still'_ the first click said. _'Be silent'_ said the second.

Flambard obeyed.

“As I was saying, Green Magic is held by all Hobbits. Some have a stronger connection with the Green Magic, but they can all still use it. Dwobbits, too. The catch is to be within the light of Yavanna's Grace. This means that you can't have forsaken the Green Lady's creations, or turned from her ways.”

“Such as trying to destroy land,” Thorin muttered, catching on. “Meaning the Witch does not have Green Magic.”

Bilbo nodded. “And a Hobbit without Green Magic would be noticed immediately, as the earth itself would recoil beneath their feet in response to Lady Yavanna's sorrow. So, with that in mind, why would a King of Dwarrow seek out _magic_ Hobbits when Hobbits having Green Magic was common knowledge to Dwarrow at that time?”

A heavy silence followed. One far too heavy and far too long for Flambard to even think that any of those within the tent knew the answer. It was frustratingly clear that no one had bothered to think about it. Flambard grew all the angrier at the Stone Folk for putting so little thought into the orders of the King.

By Bilbo's flat look, he was certain she agreed.

“I...am unsure,” Thorin finally answered.

“Unsure?” The amount of tired pique Bilbo managed to pack into that one word made Flambard rather proud of his dear cousin.

“Yes. It has never been discussed,” he explained, glaring once again.

“Funny way to say that no one ever bothered to think on the matter,” Bilbo replied casually. She pushed on before the Stone King could put another shovel in the ground to an early grave. “Dwarrow were under the common belief that the King of Dwarrow was under the spell of another. That stands to reason that every order he gave, no matter how strange, held meaning to the one controlling him. So, _think_. Why would the possessor demand Hobbits with magic?”

There was a thoughtful silence before, surprisingly, Kíli timidly answered. “Because Hobbits have another magic?”

“Correct,” Bilbo praised. “Though, it isn't really magic. That nonsense is for Wizards.” Dwalin snorted roughly before them before coughing hard. Flambard barely resisted the urge to turn and wink at the hulking Dwarf. He was all too aware it was one of Belladonna's most stated opinion. “Hobbits have what is called a Gift of Yavanna.”

“Gift of Yavanna? Your Maker,” Bard asked, a flash of curiosity coming through an otherwise grim countenance. Though the Man King had displayed a soft spot for Bilbo, he otherwise kept a rather somber air from what he observed thus far.

“Yes. The Green Lady is who forms us, and it is to her that we return when our time ends upon this world. In the forming, as we are cradled within a mother's womb, Lady Yavanna touches the soul and presents the babe with a Gift that makes itself known at birth. We have records going back before even the Wandering Days on all the different ways they've been presented, as well as the names associated with each one. Some are rarer than others, but each Gift is to be cherished and used as our Lady intended it to be. She chose the Gift as a reflection of our soul, so to refuse the Gift or abuse it is to twist and taint our very being. It is to fall from our Lady's Grace.”

Silence once again fell as everyone took a moment to process this information. Flambard caught Fíli's curious stare towards Bilbo, and warned him off with a subtle shake of his head. The Dwarf relented easily, keeping the question he wished to ask to himself. Flambard's opinion of the lad went up for his lack of hesitation in thinking of Bilbo first and his own curiosity second.

After all, Flambard was not entirely sure his cousin would refuse to answer if Fíli was the one to ask about her Gift. And it was the absolute last thing they needed right then. The whole bloody mountain of Dwarrow would be trying to lock away Bilbo to keep her hidden and safe.

Dwarrow, as Flambard very well knew, liked to hide away their most precious treasures.

“I see,” Dís began softly. “That would mean the one controlling grandfather was targeting Hobbits because of their Gifts.”

“But how would she have known who to target,” Fíli asked. He frowned at the confused looks sent his way. “When King Thrór sent for the Hobbits, he demanded certain ones be brought to him. Those sent for were said to have magic. The Witch had to know all Hobbits have Green Magic, but she demanded specific ones be brought from all the settlements.”

“But that would mean it's not even about Hobbits with magic. It's about Hobbits with a specific magic,” Kíli said with a frown identical to his brother's.

“I don't know. I feel like we are missing something,” Fíli sighed. “Gifts are a Hobbit secret. Even if the Dwobbit responsible lived within the settlement, every Hobbit would have known the Witch turned away from the Green Lady when she walked upon the soil. Bilbo said so herself. No Hobbit would have went near her, or trusted her enough to talk about their Gift to her.”

“Clever, lad,” Flambard praised. “You're very much correct in that. Had a Hobbit or Dwobbit fallen from Yavnna's Grace stepped upon soil within the settlement, we would have cast him or her out after a trial. They could not have lived within any Hobbit settlement. At least not while the Dwarrow King was being influenced.”

Balin frowned at this. “You believe she lived at the settlement prior?”

“No,” Bilbo answered without hesitation. “She is tainted. To a Hobbit, she would smell of rot and decay, like sickened trees, before she could get anywhere near us. To a Dwarf with a fairly good Stone Sense, the stone would feel... _wrong_ under her.”

“I see. But if she is not from the settlement, then how did she know which Hobbits had what Gifts? Or, more importantly, _why_ did she choose those Hobbits out of thousands?”

Flambard wasn't remotely surprised when Bilbo shifted forward to grab several pieces of parchment given to her by the Scribes of Erebor earlier that day. On it contained the names of every Hobbit from each settlement the King had demanded captured.

“Master Balin, what do you see here?” The Dwarf looked at the pages for a moment before stating what Flambard already knew. Bilbo gathered several other pages while Balin answered, and gently pressed them into his other hand. “And these?”

Flambard watched with a bit of smug glee at his cousin's cunning as Balin's expression suddenly drooped into surprise. It was an interesting look for a usually composed Dwarf. With his mouth agape and his eyes looking wildly back and forth between the pages, Balin reminded him strongly of a white-haired Radagast.

“As you can see,” Bilbo said slowly, “the _Gifts_ were never truly what that wretched creature wanted.”

“What is it,” Thorin asked, raising his hand to convey his demand. Balin rushed over immediately to place the pages before the Stone King. The Dwarf blinked in surprise at the list written in Bilbo's own hand laid beside the one given to her by the Scribes. “These Hobbits...”

“Were ones who claimed Dwarrow as their kin through right of courtship or marriage,” Bilbo finished. “The Witch wasn't actually after Hobbits with specific Gifts. Claiming magic Hobbits as a reason for capture was simply an easy cover many would believe. _Especially_ since she already managed to build his reputation up as the Mad King of Erebor.”

“This is no quick scheme. She has burned decades of life setting up this plan,” Thorin said softly.

“What do you mean?” Dís stood to look at the pages as well.

“The years she spent trying to stop marriage and courtships between a Hobbit and Dwarf was not for the reason you thought,” Bilbo explained. “She needed Dwarrow out of the way of the Hobbits she planned to go after.”

“Why,” Kíli asked just as Víli and Nori paled.

“Because no Dwarf of sound heart and mind would ever allow his wife and children to be threatened,” Víli answered quietly. Behind him, Nori grimaced. “That is why she started trying to stop courtships and get marriages revoked within the eyes of Dwarven court.”

“Aye. If the Witch could make it so the Hobbits who chose to place their love in a Dwarf were left without the protection of the Dwarf and his kin, then she could get to them much easier.”

“I just don't get it. What's the point of that?” Kíli looked to the pained faces of his kin.

“Because,” Dís began, an angry curl to her lips, “she would have easily taken the abandoned women away without any fight from the Dwarrow. She doesn't need the Hobbits with Gifts, but she did need these particular Hobbits out of the way. It would make things easier for her if they were gone.”

“Why would it be easier,” Fíli asked just as Bard cursed quietly next to his disquieted Men. “ _What_ would be easier?”

“Dwobbits,” Bilbo answered, voice a mimicry of sliding earth and cracking stone, warning of an impending danger that could be neither stopped or avoided. “The Witch's true target fifty years ago were the Dwobbits.”

A heavy silence fell in the tent. It was oppressing and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand as if the banked anger rumbling in the distant darkness brought scorching lightning with it. Still, Flambard did not dare to move from the approaching storm. Not with Bilbo calm and steady at his side. He would never abandon her.

“The babes,” Fíli croaked, eyes wide with anger and horror. “She wanted the babes?”

“Aye. She and her companions.”

“But _why_ ,” Kíli cried. “Pebbles can't do anything.”

“No, they can't do _much_ ,” Bilbo corrected. “They are born with their Gifts, but they are extremely weak. They grow as the Hobbit or Dwobbit ages. Practice and meditation makes the Gift stronger.”

“I understand that, but it still doesn't make any sense for the bastards to target pebbles.”

“Just as children are easier to influence than adults, Master Kíli, it is easier to corrupt a Hobbit's Gift before it reaches maturity.”

“Corrupt it? What happens when a Gift becomes corrupted?”

Bilbo's smile was blinding frost and biting wind. “You get a Witch.”

-LoSF-

Gerontius sat in silence in the privacy tent given to him for his son's care. He had woken hours before, but the exhaustion quickly pulled him back under. Poor Bilbo had arrived only minutes before with several Dwarrow at her back.

Dwalin had been among them. The softhearted oaf had taken it upon himself to escort their granddaughter safely to the tent. His grim expression and tensed jaw was enough to let him know Bilbo had revealed who the true target of the Witch was.

Dwobbits.

The rage he had felt when Bilbo first shared with him her thoughts on the Witch's target still thrummed through his veins to agitate his Gift. Only the knowledge of how releasing the scorching winds contained within old bones would harm the negotiations gave him the strength to reign it in.

Though he was far from his prime physically, his Gift was still as powerful as ever. It reacted to his emotions as it always had, seeking to destroy any and all threats to him and his kin. And there was no threat greater than a crazed creature who fell from Yavanna's Grace going after his young kin.

Though he was angry, he was far from surprised when Bilbo shared her thoughts after reading through all the material presented to her. He had known she sensed something the first time the Witch presented herself, but he hadn't bothered to ask. Bilbo only spoke when she was certain, and he had already guessed the woman was a Dwobbit based on the Hobbitish runes mixed in with Dwarven ones.

Having Bilbo thinking the same even before she read the many journals and scrolls was merely a confirmation as far as he was concerned.

“Grandfather?” Bilbo's gentle fingers brushing the back of his hand pulled his attention from whirling thoughts. He offered a smile while accepting the teacup. He sighed at her blank expression as she looked towards his sleeping son.

“It was not your fault, sweetling,” he said firmly, covering her hands to hide how they trembled on her lap. He always hated to see any sign of her pain. “I am so very proud of you for saving him before the Witch could cause him harm. He is fine because of you. I have my son back, one I thought lost so long ago, because of you. Thank you.”

Bilbo said nothing to this, but he hadn't expected her to.

“How did the rest of the meeting go? You're back later than I thought.”

“The Dwarrow and Men had many questions,” she explained. “It went as well as we thought. I left the contract we made with Master Balin, but I;m not sure if he will be getting to it tonight.”

“Maybe not,” he agreed. “How did they take the news in regards to your theory for why the Witch attacked?”

“Properly horrified. The lists I provided backed my claim well enough. It would appear no one noticed the similarities between the two matters before.”

Gerontius paused at the odd hum behind the words. It almost sounded as if Bilbo believed someone of power within Dwarven society was responsible for keeping such a connection hidden. He hummed in askance, and she answered by inclining her head ever so slightly.

The Old Took could not find it in himself to be surprised at her conclusion. Bilbo was a strategist on par with some of the greatest war tacticians he had ever met. Bungo had taken that talent and polished it until it outshone all other skills. If she deduced it to be, then it was so.

“And what did they think of our talents?”

“Curious, but they held themselves back for the sake of time and more urgent matters,” Bilbo said with a shrug. “Master Víli was the only one to know of Gifts, but I suspect King Thranduil had an idea of such things. He's mingled with our kind for far too many centuries to not have noticed _something_ going on. Especially since there are a few cases of a Hobbit and Elf producing an offspring. If those children still live within Greenwood, he has no doubt noticed their inner light has a great affinity for the woods they are born to.”

“Yes, I'd imagine he knows. There are very few things that can escape an ancient Elf's eyes.” Gerontius had suspected so after a conversation with Lord Elrond nearly sixty years prior. He'd never bothered to ask what the Half-Elf saw when looking at his kin, but there was doubt it was more than he would lead others to believe.

“Overall, I feel comfortable in saying the outcome of the meeting is promising. Everyone is in agreement that the Dwobbits are the target. As to why? The most accepted answer is that Dwobbits, unlike Hobbits, are able to have Gifts with Stone as well as Earth. The other reason is that the Witch may want more like her. There is a chance she is looking for someone who had the same Gift as her before it became corrupted.”

Gerontius nodded his understanding. Bilbo had speculated the first night that if the Witch was indeed a Dwobbit, her Gift was corrupted beyond recognition. She did have a guess for what it may be, but was staying silent on the matter for now.

It made the Took in him perk up curiously, but he asked no more on the subject. Bilbo would tell him when she was ready, when she had more solid proof to support her theories, and nothing and no one would sway her.

“Terrible business,” he sighed, the sorrow he felt entering his voice to weigh his words with it. “She must have suffered something awful to have her light twisted so terribly.”

His heir hummed, eyes curiously pensive as she stared ahead. “Perhaps she suffered. Perhaps she caused the suffering. Perhaps both. Only the Green Lady knows the truth for now.”

Well, that was certainly a statement. He had certainly been around a Hobbit with a blight upon them before, but it was usually from when the soul suffered a shattering event that tainted them with darkness. Not once in his long life had he met a Hobbit, or Dwobbit for that matter, who fell from their Lady's Grace due to their own choices while in the light.

Still, if Bilbo was bothering to say anything on the matter at all, it was best to go ahead and consider such a possibility. Hobbits were not above falling to darkness on their own. If the Dwobbit was born with a taint already within her heart, he had little doubt her Gift was twisted into a rotted, festering thing.

“And what of the Man?”

Bilbo's grimace was edged with fury. “That weasel will be questioned by the Dwarrow. I'll receive a report in the morning before we set out.” Gerontius looked to his granddaughter curiously at that. She sighed, but answered faithfully. “I've told the Stone King it would be best to move along before the Witch could attack us out in the open. We will spend a week at the Elven King's palace to decide on the contract. We leave in the morning.”

He nodded in understanding, allowing the matter to drop. Gerontius knew Bilbo didn't wish to enter an alliance, but she saw the benefits in it. And, because she was a good leader, she listened to her people first and her own feelings second. The majority of Hobbits were willing to give the Dwarrow a chance, most doing so in hopes that the Dwobbits will find kinship within the mountain, so Bilbo was putting the effort in.

Truly, Gerontius could not be prouder.

“I imagine we will not be made to wear the chains now that the Witch is aware of the farce?”

“Aye. I've warned them of what will happen to anyone who tries.” Gerontius had to laugh at the sharp grin. He could already hear the snarl from a smiling mouth warning off such actions. “We will travel unhindered. I've asked Beorn to return home to send word to some of our allies for me. He's taken my missives, and will call for the hawks from Mistfield to carry the letters.”

Gerontius nodded, but said nothing while accepting a fresh cup of tea. He allowed Bilbo's calm chatter to chase away the lingering fear from the Witch's latest appearance. The warmth from the cup broke through the icy worry coiling around his heart.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt like he could finally breathe again.

“Bilbo,” he called softly. She stopped in her fussing over his son's blankets immediately. His expression must have gave something away on his thoughts, because her own closed off a moment later. “ _Bilbo, please. We need to talk about it._ ”

He sighed when she shook her head in response.

“ _The Dwarrow may not have asked about the significance of the egg, but eventually they are going to realize the Witch knew something of you. Something from when you were much younger._ ”

“ _And? It is not important._ ”

Gerontius shook his head, sighing around a deepening frown. “ _Flower of mine, my silver jewel, you know that is not true._ ”

Bilbo flinched, staring at where her hands were curled into tight fists on the edge of Hildifons' cot. “ _I know_ ,” she conceded. “ _That does not mean I wish to speak of it_.”

Sorrow and sympathy swelled in him, but he pushed them down. Bilbo would not thank him for feeling such for her.

“ _She spoke as if she knew of you, Bilbo. And you addressed her in a manner that suggested you knew of her situation_ ,” he reminded, recalling Bilbo warning off the Witch with the mention of her 'betters' being angry with her for her actions.

“ _It was a guess_.” She shrugged, rolling her shoulders slightly to try and relax the tense line they'd become. “ _The threat I encountered all those years ago was a Dwarf. He sent slavers and other foul Men my way after I misjudged him for a kind person_.”

“ _Do not blame yourself for that evil creature's wrongs_ ,” Gerontius said firmly. He knew Bilbo still blamed herself for what happened to cause many of the scars on marring her skin, but he would not stand for it. No Hobbit or Dwobbit would. That bastard Dwarf was the one responsible for her pain. For her _nightmare_.

“ _Still, it seemed as though she may be working with them_ ,” she continued without acknowledging his words. “ _Those Men had a taint upon them. It felt familiar to what happened when the Witch marked someone in a way to possess them. When she revealed knowing something about the event no one else knows about, it was confirmation enough to me. She had to be working with the ones who went after me back then_.”

Gerontius closed his eyes with a sigh. He hated hearing her speak about that horrid time just as much as she hated speaking on it. Unfortunately, the discussion needed to happen.

“ _They will realize the connection between you and them sooner rather than later, my dear_ ,” he warned. “ _They need only time to analyze your conversation with her_.”

A pause. “ _I know_.”

“ _They will ask you about the words spoken tonight_.”

“ _I know_.”

“ _Are you prepared to speak with them? To reveal the betrayal of the very first Dwarf you ever met and his apparent connection to the Witch_?”

Bilbo didn't answer.

He hadn't expected her to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview Next Chapter:
> 
> From the perspective of someone who had just traveled several months with Dwarrow, Bilbo could honestly say the few hours she walked thus far with the newest group was a vast improvement.
> 
> For one, none of them were in chains.
> 
> Her kin all expressed their pleasure in not having to be chained. More than one had made a loud comment on how the bulky things bruised their wrists terribly. The Dwarrow who heard winced even as Bilbo smothered down laughter. If there was one thing Hobbits were good at, it was backhanded pettiness that only a fool would bring a counter voice to.
> 
> With everyone working quickly to get going, the camp was broken down and moving onward not long after Beorn left with her letters tucked safely away. The Eagles had flown off before the camp was full awake, and Nori had appeared the moment she stepped out of the tent to see them off.
> 
> He'd waited patiently for her to finish speaking to her friends. Though he looked somewhat bemused as he listened to them trill at each other, Bilbo noted the curious and worried glint in his eyes.
> 
> Still, the Dwarf said and asked nothing. He simply handed over the report from his night with Alfrid and promised to speak with her when she had time to read it. He left after reassuring her he managed to keep the weasel alive, but not before stepping cautiously into her space to wrap her in a hug.
> 
> He'd took off before she could even raise her hands.
> 
> Strange Dwraven uncles aside, the rest of the morning was rather uneventful. She spent most of her time walking beside the wagon Hildifons was forced into by the Healers from all groups. He answered her questions readily, and apologized instantly.
> 
> Bilbo had made her escape when she could no longer take listening to another 'sorry' from her uncle's lips. She, more than most, understood he was not at fault for what happened.
> 
> With the slowness of the morning crawling along as they marched towards the Elven King's territory, Bilbo could honestly say she was not at all surprised when trouble came upon them in the form of terribly bored Faunts.
> 
> Truly, Orcs were very much preferred.


	24. TWENTY FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hope everyone is doing well. Just wanting to reassure everyone I will not abandon this story even if I drop to one chapter a week every once in awhile. If I don't manage to get two chapters out, it's most likely just been a busy family/work week. So, no worries! I will always let you know if I plan on being away for a bit.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy!

-LoSF-

From the perspective of someone who had just traveled several months with Dwarrow, Bilbo could honestly say the few hours she walked thus far with the newest group was a vast improvement.

For one, none of them were in chains.

Her kin all expressed their pleasure in not having to be chained. More than one had made a loud comment on how the bulky things bruised their wrists terribly. The Dwarrow who heard winced even as Bilbo smothered down laughter. If there was one thing Hobbits were good at, it was backhanded pettiness that only a fool would bring a counter voice to.

With everyone working quickly to get going, the camp was broken down and moving onward not long after Beorn left with her letters tucked safely away. The Eagles had flown off before the camp was fully awake, and Nori had appeared the moment she stepped out of the tent to see them off.

He'd waited patiently for her to finish speaking to her friends. Though he looked somewhat bemused as he listened to them trill at each other, Bilbo noted the curious and worried glint in his eyes.

Still, the Dwarf said and asked nothing. He simply handed over the report from his night with Alfrid and promised to speak with her when she had time to read it. He left after reassuring her he managed to keep the weasel alive, but not before stepping cautiously into her space to wrap her in a hug.

He'd took off before she could even raise her hands.

Strange Dwraven uncles aside, the rest of the morning was rather uneventful. She spent most of her time walking beside the wagon Hildifons was forced into by the Healers from _all_ groups. He answered her questions readily, and apologized repeatedly.

Bilbo had made her escape when she could no longer take listening to another 'sorry' from her uncle's lips. She, more than most, understood he was not at fault for what happened.

With the slowness of the morning crawling along as they marched towards the Elven King's territory, Bilbo could honestly say she was not at all surprised when trouble came upon them in the form of terribly bored Faunts.

Truly, Orcs were very much preferred.

“Well,” Gerontius began at her side, “young ones will be young even in serious situations.”

Bilbo snorted at the obvious statement, but patted her grandfather's arm fondly as they watched the Faunts and older children rush around. Flowers of all colors and shapes sprang forth beneath their feet in response to the Green Magic and Green Lady's Gifts bursting from their small forms without restraint.

Those near watched on in amazement. Murmurs of hope, praise, and thanks fell from gaping mouths as trodden ground more dirt than grass quickly became peppered with reaching vines, swaying bushes, and dancing flowers.

“Are you certain allowing the Faunts to release their hold on their Green Magic was a good idea?” She looked between the many faces around her in search of any fear or disgust. If she found any, Bilbo would have to move quickly to rip the little ones away from any threat.

“Aye,” Gerontius answered, gently petting where her hand curled around his elbow. “Do not fret, my dear. It is for the best that the Dwarrow, Men, and Elves see a bit of what we can do.”

“It will certainly help move negotiations along.”

“That it will,” he agreed.

“And that Faunts needed to let go of their control. They've done so well in keeping the Green Magic locked away.”

“They have, but we both know the ill consequences of keeping it locked away for too long.”

“You're right. It's better to just do it this way. They've waited long enough.” Bilbo shook her head as delighted shrieks and bemused laughter continued to fill the air. It was a relief to see everyone playing along when the little ones, no taller than Dwarven boots, chose company members at random to decorate with flower woven crowns, necklaces, and bracelets. Though a few Dwarrow pretended to grumble about 'the pretty plants', not a single individual pushed reaching hands away. It had her laughing before she could stop herself.

“Do you find something entertaining, Lady Bilbo?”

Bilbo turned at the warm voice at her back. Fíli looked as amused as she felt. He seemed to be struggling with keeping his eyes off the Faunts running between legs and dodging boots. Strangely, or perhaps not considering he was an older brother, it appeared as though he was more interested in the children than the sudden burst of greenery at their feet.

“But of course, Prince Fíli,” she answered around a smile. Her gaze shifted to the white-haired Dwarf at his side. “Good morning, Master Balin.”

“Good morning, my dear. Please, do call me Balin outside of official meetings.”

“Very well.” She returned his smile, but her eyes zeroed in on the journal stuffed with extra parchment pinned between his ribs and arm. “Is this an official meeting?”

“Not all all,” he chuckled, patting the journal. “Notes from the contract you gave me. I wanted to go over a few things with Gerontius to make sure I understood.”

The Old Took cracked a grin at that. “I'm certain you understood it all well enough.” Bilbo blinked when he suddenly looked between Fíli and her. He did it several times before looking at Balin with a mischievous smile. “Still, I'll have a look before getting into the wagon. Sweet Bilbo was helping me stretch my legs a bit.”

Before anything could be said, Gerontius had transferred her hand to Fíli's elbow and stepped out of the way with Balin at his side. A merry whistle trailed his steps. Bilbo blushed hotly at the message beneath. ' _Hold his arm, but not his tongue! Need a courting gift, first!_ '

Bilbo fought down the blush even as she fought to ignore the cackling of Yavanna and roaring laughter of Mahal. Fíli, thankfully, had no idea what was just said.

“I feel as though Balin planned this,” Fíli mused. He shifted his arm to allow her a more comfortable hold, then covered her hand with his other. She relaxed at the familiar weight and warmth of it. After traveling with only each other for awhile, Bilbo could admit to growing accustomed to his presence. It had felt odd the last few days without his solid frame chasing away the chill of the night. _That_ thought, however, was not something she was willing to share with anyone.

“If he did, my grandfather is more than happy to go along with it.” She rolled her eyes, but leaned slightly into his side to show she wasn't angry. “Does he actually have questions?”

“Aye,” he confirmed, smiling brightly when Faunts barreled by them in chase of a ball made from a Dwarf's leather pouch stuffed with a light fabric. Bilbo wasn't sure who made it for the little ones to play with, but she was immensely thankful for their kindness. “I believe it was a section of the marriage contract.”

“Oh?”

“He wanted to make sure he understood every courting step clearly.”

“Ah. That's good. I'm glad he decided to come and ask, then.”

Fíli nodded, but said nothing else for awhile. He kept looking between the Faunts and her, a curious look on his face and a question clearly being held behind thinned lips. When he still hadn't spoken up after a few more minutes, Bilbo offered him a warm smile and nod as encouragement.

“Why the marriage contract?”

She frowned at the whispered words. “Are you against it?”

“Of course not!” The affronted look and blazing blush was enough to make her throw her head back in a wild bark of laughter. She glanced at him once she managed to calm herself. He looked much more relaxed, and his expression was softer. “But you said you wouldn't marry because a contract ordered it.”

“That's correct. I won't marry someone for the sake of an alliance. No contract will hold sway over me in such a way.”

“Then...”

Bilbo tightened her grip as she allowed her head to drop against her One's shoulder. Though she knew what he was trying to say, she didn't really feel like talking about it. To her, it was obvious. To Fíli, however, it seemed as though he was overthinking the matter.

“I would have refused every contract your uncle sent me that didn't have your name on it,” she said simply.

Fíli fell silent for a moment, but when he spoke again his voice held a touch of something Bilbo often heard in King Aragorn's voice when he spoke to his beloved Queen. It was soft, warm thing that pulled at her heart. It was something stronger than fondness, and her soul shivered to hear it.

“You would have no other?”

“None. Only you.”

A strangled sound escaped Fíli at her admission. She kept her gaze on the children running to the left to give him some semblance of privacy while he pulled himself together.

She was courteous enough to pretend not to feel the brush of his nose and lips against the top of her curls.

Bilbo hoped he would do the same in regards to her blush and spasming fingers beneath his steady hand.

“I am glad to hear it,” he admitted in a whisper. Then, in a louder voice, he asked, “Why did you decide to present the marriage contract in such a way? I'm sure we could have found another way to secure your kin's happiness.”

Bilbo shook her head even as he tried to offer other solutions. “You heard the discussion in the tent. It is the only option to destroy any resistance that my kin may be forced to go up against if pursuing a courtship with a Dwarf. No one can make too much of a fuss if the Prince and Thain-Heir are the ones courting. The only higher positions are King Thorin and Thain Gerontius. Neither will go against our claim to one another.”

“Yes, but why the contract? We could have simply begun courting without adding the marriage contract to the alliance.”

“We could have,” Bilbo agreed easily, “but then those against the marriage of a Dwarf and Hobbit could claim we didn't offer it because we do not support such marriages for our kin. A political marriage is a statement. I want everyone to hear it loud and clear.”

Fíli hummed in thought beside her, casting his gaze skyward to stare thoughtfully at the slow moving clouds. “I can understand that. It's definitely a good plan to dissuade anyone from petitioning against our kin from seeking a spouse outside their own kind.”

“Yes. It was the biggest reason.”

“Biggest? It was not your only?”

Bilbo's lips twitched into a bemused smile at his stunned yet hopeful expression. “No. It was one of three.”

“Oh? What were the other two?”

“Well,” she began, gaze trailing the steps of her kin to avoid staring into the cloudless blue sky of his eyes, “doing it this way will break any foothold those against mixed marriage might have in saying we are jumping into a courtship because we found our One in each other. It just will not do to have those who wish to court but are not Ones be judged harshly if such a standard was set.”

Fíli _wheezed_ at her words. She looked to him sharply in concern, but found herself blushing hotly under the pure _awe_ in his gaze as he stared at her. She flexed her fingers beneath his hand even as she coughed in hopes of getting him to focus. In only made the decidedly soppy look worse, however.

“You recognize me as your One.”

“Well, yes,” Bilbo said, confusion in her voice. “I would not have offered my hand to you so willingly otherwise.”

“Truly?”

“Yes,” she answered simply. Bilbo studied the bright grin on his face and strange mix of delight and disbelief in his eyes before asking, “Did you think I had not recognized your soul as the one to most compliment and match my own?”

Fíli stuttered as he tried and failed to think of something to say. Luckily, however, the tiny Faunts wreaking havoc up and down the line had finally deigned to turn their attentions upon them. They charged, calling her name as they did so, and smiled brightly as each of them tumbled into her space with happy chatter and flower crowns.

“Bilbo! Take my necklace! It's not as pretty as you, but these blooms will look nice with your dress!”

“No way! Bilbo is going to wear _my_ crown! Look, Miss Bilbo! I added yellow flowers to match the gold on your dress!”

“What about _my_ necklace? You'll wear it, right? Won't you, Lady Bilbo? It goes well with the orange!”

“Oh! We have some for your Dwarf, Miss Bilbo! We can give them to him, right?”

“Please, Lady Bilbo? Your Dwarf needs flowers!”

Bilbo could only smile and nod through her laughter as the little ones tugged and tutted at the Dwarf and Dwobbit. Fíli chuckled as they climbed up him with little effort to plop a flower crown on his head. Several of the little lasses with even littler crowns decided they made better bracelets on the Dwarf than crowns. Fíli, with flowers stretching from wrist to elbow in blues, yellows, oranges, and whites, grinned brightly and praised each and every crown presented to him.

Soon enough it was her turn. The Faunts nearly fell over one another in their rush to offer their crafted gifts to her first. She praised each one and placed it upon her person with the greatest care. Each gift was rewarded with hair ruffles, belly tickles, and nose kisses.

The squeals of delight and laughter caught the attention of everyone near. Bilbo pretended not to hear the coos and chuckles. Fíli, much to her joy, also chose to ignore the teasing comments from his kin in favor of bestowing his own form of reward for the thoughtful gifts.

Faunts squealed as he tossed them in the air and placed them on his shoulders. Despite having five on him, Fíli never let a single one of the little ones wobble or waver. Though several of the shyer ones clung to the flowing skirts of her orange dress, the youngest of the Faunts happily curled into her chest, tucking his head beneath her neck while blinking wonderingly up at the Dwarf and chattering half in Westron and half in Hobbitish at Fíli.

Bilbo knew they made for quite a sight. A Dwarven Prince and Dwobbit Princess, a courting pair and leaders of their people, decorated in matching flowers and surrounded by little ones. Oh, she knew every witness to the heartwarming display was seeing a bright glimpse into a possible future between the races.

And, if Bilbo allowed her heart to wish for something she herself could claim as her own for once, perhaps she was hoping for that future.

“Oh, no! The evil guards are here!” The laughing cry of a single Faunt had the others rushing off with cheerful waves and wide grins. Bilbo returned their goodbyes with a lazy wave alongside Fíli. The two were still laughing when the 'evil guards' appeared beside them.

“Blasted Faunts get faster by the day!” Belmur looked at the retreating forms in exasperation. “I thought we had them this time!”

“You know how sneaky the little ones are,” Bilbo replied, cackling gleefully when Heldur leaned around his twin to sign a rude gesture at her. “Don't worry, Hedlur. They will tire eventually.”

“We're going to make your heir watch them next time,” he muttered, stomping away from her laughter to chase after the Faunts.

“Yeah. He needs the practice, anyways,” Belmur grumbled before darting forward to nuzzle her nose with his own. “Later, Bil! We'll talk later!”

She called fondly after the twins, chasing their forms with cheerful laughter. She turned her attention back to Fíli when he stepped closer to her side. Seeing the offered arm, Bilbo smiled up at the blonde Dwarf in acceptance of his gesture.

“Are they always like that,” he asked after she was once again attached to his side.

“The Faunts? Aye. Lively bunch.”

“Hmm,” he said lightly, eyes trailing Belmur's steps before the Dwobbit disappeared in the crowd. “And the nose thing?”

Bilbo laughed at the slight pout on her Dwarf's face. And, truly, he was _her_ Dwarf. Just as she was _his_. She just needed to decide in what way her One was meant to be in her life. Though, seeing how things were going, Bilbo had little doubts to their courtship ending in anything but marriage, contract or not.

“A Hobbit greeting.”

“It seems...intimate.”

“That is a common greeting for all and no more intimate than a hug between kin,” she assured with a smile. “It starts when we are born. Whiles Elven babes have the best hearing and Dwarven pebbles the greatest sight, Hobbit newborns have an exceptional sense of smell at birth. Mothers and fathers immediately nuzzle the babe's nose so the scent will be recognized. The child eventually begins to do that as a greeting to anyone who picks them up. It doesn't even need to be taught as a greeting. It's instinctual for us all to greet kin and kith in such a way.”

“Ah. We have something similar.”

Bilbo nodded in understanding. “I've noticed a few Dwarrow greet each other like rams.”

Fíli barked out a surprised laugh at that. Warmth filled her at hearing it, but she willed away the blush before it could take hold. She knew she wasn't used to such attentions or being attracted to someone for more than an occasional curious appreciation for beauty or skill found in towns of Men and cities of Elves, but that did not mean she would allow herself to be so thoroughly influenced by Fíli.

He was her One, yes. But she only knew him for a few months. It was enough time to develop an appreciation for him as a person. Bilbo could certainly admit to herself of having a crush on the lad. A few months of tentative friendship, however, did not equal the deep trust and closeness of courting pairs. Being Ones did not change that.

“I suppose that is a fair statement,” he replied with a shy grin. He appeared worried of receiving harsh judgment for the greeting of his own kin. Bilbo soothed his worries with a smile of her own. “Headbutting is an affectionate gesture. It speaks of trust, care, and love. Dwarrow, as I'm sure you have noticed, tend to become single-minded when focused on tasks belonging to their chosen trade. The greeting is a reminder to one another that even when pulled by Mahal's will, we do not lose focus on the ones we love. That they are at the forefront of our thoughts. Both blood kin and battle kin are known to share the action.”

“I find such a gesture endearing,” Bilbo said after a moment. The phantom brush of a rough hand against her cheek had her lips twitching up into a tender smile. Mahal rarely tried to manipulate his power to physically touch her, but it always flooded her heart with love when he did.

“I'm glad.” Fíli's voice dipped into something hushed with reverence. Looking at him, being so close to him, it was easy to see he was staring at the space around her cheek. Though panic shot through her at him having somehow been able to see or sense something, Bilbo shoved it down mercilessly before the Dwarf could take notice of it.

“Fíli?” She titled her head in slight confusion, making a show of glancing around them both before slanting slightly troubled eyes on him.

He responded by coughing roughly into his shoulder while pulling his emotions and thoughts away from whatever trapped him a moment before. With obvious effort, he smiled casually down at her and hummed in thought.

A sudden voice calling her name stopped Fíli from asking any questions before he even had a chance to voice them. Leaning around Fíli's stocky frame, Bilbo spots Lilium Lightfoot hurrying towards her with a harried look about her. She immediately released her hold on Fíli in order to fully face her kin.

“Misstress Lightfoot! Is everything alright,” she questioned as the Hobbit stopped abrubtly in front of her. Chestnut curls bounced around her chin, having come loose from the bun at the back of her head, as she carefully curtsied towards Fíli before answering.

“Yes, my dear. Just chasing after the little ones. Young Brandigris is trying to persuade a Dwarf up yonder to give him sword lessons. His mother has asked me to wrestle him back to her while she gets the twins settled. If you would be so kind?”

Though Fíli looked confused, Bilbo instantly understood what was being asked of her when the Hobbit gently brushed slim fingers over the brown sash tied around her front. With a bright smile, Bilbo held her arms up and allowed the relieved nanny to transfer the sash over after untying it with an ease that spoke of years of practice.

Within a blink Bilbo found herself cradling the center of the fabric to her chest while Lilium swiftly tied the thin yet sturdy material around her, crossing it in a different way than she wore it in account to their different shapes.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “His mother is working on preparing snacks further ahead.”

She was off and dashing between startled Dwarrow and Men before Bilbo could respond. Shaking her head in amusement, Bilbo adjusted her hold ever so slightly and returned to Fíli's side.

“Erm, what was that about,” he asked, peering in confusion at the material now wrapped like a ribbon on a box around her frame. She tried not to feel self-conscious when his gaze lingered on certain sharp dips and soft edges. Her kin assured her there was nothing wrong with having a flat stomach due to her Dwarven heritage despite taking after a Hobbit more than a Dwarf in overall appearance. Still, Bilbo found herself feeling rather lissome when next to other Dwobbits. Having met a few Dams during her trip, her confidence in her appearance appealing to anyone had dropped significantly. Usually it was easy to ignore such thoughts and doubts, but Bilbo found herself wanting to be considered at least somewhat pretty by Fíli.

“Mistress Lilium Lightfoot is a nanny. She is going after one of the Faunts to bring him back to his mother.”

“Aye,” he agreed slowly. “And the cloth?”

Bilbo blinked. “You mean the sash? It's a sling.”

“A sling? For an injury? Why do you need a sling?” He returned her confused expression.

“For an...What? No. Fíli,” she sighed, drawing his name out with a low breath. He startled beside her, face pinking as she grabbed his hand to pull it towards her chest.

He stuttered out what Bilbo thought was meant to be words, but really it all just sounded like garbled noise beneath a surprised wheeze. Rolling her eyes at the lad's strange behavior, Bilbo placed his palm over the gentle swell just above her own had.

Fíli stilled, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

“A babe,” he whispered in shock, having no doubt felt the rise and fall of steady breathing beneath his palm.

Bilbo nodded before carefully releasing Fíli's hand to gently shift the sash aside just enough for a head to be revealed. Righteous blonde curls atop a head the size of the Dwarf's fist rested against her chest, face scrunched in sleep as the boy slept peacefully on.

“This is Henrith,” Bilbo murmured, voice soft and low as she shifted to gently brush golden curls back from the boy's forehead. “He turned a year old about a month ago.”

“A year,” Fíli gaped at the small babe. “He's smaller than a newborn pebble!”

“Really,” Bilbo hummed, but wasn't overly surprised. Dwarrow were bigger than Hobbits. It made sense their babes were bigger, too. “Henrith is actually tall for his age.” Fíli's startled expression earned a bright giggle. “Do not worry, Fíli. He is in good health, and a happy lad.”

“He's just so small.”

“To a Dwarf, yes. He's perfectly normal to a Hobbit.”

“I've never seen a babe so tiny before,” he murmured, reaching out after looking to her for permission to graze soft curls with a single finger.

“I suppose you wouldn't remember seeing any when you were a child yourself,” Bilbo said after a moment of thought. “Babes this small stay at home. You would have mostly encountered tween Hobbits and Dwobbits.”

“Ah. Most likely. I remember a few children, but not any babes.”

“That's alright,” she assured. “You know, the children are why my people agreed to an alliance.”

“What do you mean?”

“You just admitted to having not seen a babe this small before,” Bilbo began softly, “but there were many Dwobbit babes born not long after my people fled your home. So many grew up without their fathers. Many lost their mothers. Some of those babes didn't survive long after birth, and some never took their first breath.”

Bilbo turned to Fíli, trying to lighten the heartbreaking sadness she knew pooled in her eyes by offering a gentle smile. It didn't seem to soothe the lad, however. Fíli took one look at her face, grimaced, and raised a hand to cup her cheek in silent support. The rough pads of his fingertips against her skin grounded her in a way only Mahal's steadfast presence within her Gift ever had before.

“The children who survived are still without their fathers, Fíli. That is something we as a people have always acknowledged and mourned for. The Dwobbits who long for knowledge and acceptance by their Dwarrow kin have always been at the forefront of our thoughts. As a figure of leadership to Hobbits, their suffering and heartache over being isolated from half of who and what they are has always held sway over me.

“My kin are of the same mind. It is our wish that no children will ever have to be without loving parents and close kin to support them. By agreeing to the alliance, we are allowing those children a chance to close that void. We are giving them a chance. Still, those abandoned children are going to need protection and support.

“The marriage contract between us gives them that. Who would dare harm a Dwobbit child when the beloved Prince's intended in a Dwobbit herself? Who would forbid the reunion of father and child when Prince Fíli's intended was only able to meet her own sire through the alliance? As your intended, my heritage and background will be widespread. I plan on using that as a shield against any who will seek to attack the happiness my kin plan on reaching for.”

Fíli was silent but thoughtful beside her. She left him to his own mind, focusing instead on the babe snoring softly against her chest. Bilbo hummed an old melody her mother used to sing to her while gently brushing her palm up and down his small back. She nuzzled his curls and kissed his head as she allowed her steps to sway ever so slightly. The soft rocking motion eased the slight pinch between the boy's eyes. He relaxed fully with a soft coo that pulled a low laugh from Fíli.

“You're good with children,” he murmured softly. “A natural.”

“All Hobbits, even Dwobbits, love children. They are our pride.”

“I can see that,” he said just as softly, looking at her with eyes too warm and too thoughtful. Bilbo couldn't recall ever having anyone look to her that way before, but it somehow soothed the bubbling doubt she felt earlier. “Your pride and love for the children, the same shown by your kin, is shown in your willingness for an alliance. I find such intentions honorable. Such people are meant to be treasured.”

The sudden burst of affection and joy left Bilbo stuttering for a moment as she tried to thank Fíli for his kind praise of her kin. It came out a whisper as she ducked her head to try and hide the heat burning her face against the golden curls pressed into her chest. The wide grin and rumbling chuckle told her the Dwarf knew exactly what she was doing.

“I hope you know, Lady Bilbo, a Dwarf loves their treasure.”

And honestly _that_ just wasn't fair. Only Mahal and Yavanna had ever managed to make her Gift _sing_ with joy and love. The softly spoken words, barely a whisper against her hair, had her struggling to silence the song of her power before it could echo from her soul to the earth beneath her feet. The last thing Bilbo needed was an entire orchid of blooms sprouting around them. Though the rest may think it a normal reaction, her kin would know that her heart was _soaring_. The teasing would be unbearable.

“How very bold of you to say,” Bilbo finally managed to say. She nearly frowned at the sound of her voice. It wasn't a tone she ever used before. She hadn't even known she could make such a soft, lilting sound. Before she could puzzle out exactly what it meant, Bilbo was distracted by Fíli jerking upright with a dusting of pink beneath his beard. It appeared he at least knew the meaning to the odd tone.

“It's only the truth,” he said simply. He smirked at her, but the sharp curve softened as a low noise came from beneath the sash. “Is he waking up?”

“Yes,” Bilbo answered, shifting her arms automatically to loosen the sling around the boy further. He nuzzled around for a moment, but blearily blinked up at her after shaking himself free of the claim sleep held over his senses. “Hello, darling. How was your nap?”

He smiled up at her in recognition, but looked around curiously with wide eyes. He repeated the action several times before settling his gaze on her with a slight frown. “Momma?”

“We will go get her right now, little one,” she assured. Bilbo adjusted her grip on the boy, smiling and cooing as she did so, and turned her gaze to Fíli. “Thank you for keeping me company. If you would, please tell grandfather I will be checking on all the young ones after dropping this one off with his mother.”

Fíli nodded in agreement. “Of course. I enjoyed my walk with you. I hope to see you soon.”

Bilbo hesitated for only a moment before stepping directly into the Dwarf's path. He stopped at once, looking down at her curiously, but did not try to move around her.

“I didn't give you the final reason I agreed to the marriage contract as part of an alliance.”

Fíli dipped his chin, but stayed silent.

“It is true that adding the marriage contract would pave the way for my people and limit any backlash if they sought to reunite with their old spouses or flames, but the third reason is entirely for myself.”

“Is that so,” he asked, curiosity bright upon his face.

“Aye. You see, both Hobbit and Dwarven courtships are very public. Both have many steps, gifts to be given, and family members to be met. There are many differences, however. Differences that will try to be forced into the shadows once we reach Erebor.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dwarrow do not value what Hobbits do. Claiming Ones doesn't change that sentiment. We both know finding and having a One does not mean you have found a romantic partner, a spouse, as simply as that. Ones are simply the single being born to this world who compliments your soul. They complete you in a way that you did not know you needed. It is said that Lord Mahal created Ones because a Dwarf was split in two. That the Dwarf must find their One to feel complete. Did you know the teachings of Lady Yavanna say something different?”

“I did not,” he answered, looking more curious than angry at having a story contradict those told by generations of Dwarven Lords.

“Lady Yavanna says Ones are meant to be an extension of yourself. It is not that you are One being split in two destined to find one another or face life feeling incomplete, but rather you are a whole being in and of yourself that happens to match another soul so completely that your essence is One in the same. You are not two sides to make a single coin, instead you are a reflection in water. You still exist as a complete being even if life's ripples take away the reflection, but you will not be able to find another so much like yourself once that reflection is gone.”

Fíli absorbed this all while the company marched around them. He looked thoughtful and curious, but took his time thinking over her words. Slowly, after a moment of hesitation, he asked exactly what she suspected he would.

“You said you would offer me your hand because I was your One. You did not mean that in the same blind belief that Ones are meant to be together that many of the older Dwarrow have, did you?”

“No.”

“You meant it as a way of saying you knew we would build a future together if given the chance, because our souls are similar.”

“Something like that,” Bilbo agreed. “As my One, as a reflection of my own soul, I know I can count on you to put your people first the same way I will put mine first. We will not follow blindly. We will not act on emotions alone. We will ensure the safety of our people and home before the safety of one another.”

“You believe I am capable of such things?”

“Yes, I do,” she answered firmly.

“How can you hold such faith in me? We have had a few months to get to know each other, but there is still a lot we do not know.”

“Because I am your One, and you are mine,” she answered simply. “I once met an Elf who could see the essence of a soul. He said mine was one of nobility, fortitude, and fairness. He saw a soul that shone with the light of one meant to rule. If my soul is that of a queen and Ones are simply reflections of one another, then you have the soul of a king. I'm putting my faith in the king you will one day be, and placing my hopes on the prince you are now.”

Fíli looked speechless and somewhat vulnerable. Though his mouth moved for several moments, no sounds came out. Understanding his shock, Bilbo reached forward to press a palm flat over his heart. The steady rhythm jumped into a slightly faster beat at her touch.

“Ones do not guarantee joy, love, or happiness. They compliment, but do not complete each other. I chose to put the marriage contract forward for many reasons, but the reason that was my own was to give you time to learn more about me, my people, and our ways. You, like myself, will not throw yourself into a courtship simply because you are told to, but I realized after much thought that you have held feelings for me ever since sensing that I am your One. Still, I am a Daughter of Yavanna at heart. I see Ones differently than you do. I do not wish our people to think our marriage is based solely upon old beliefs. Ones can be friends, lovers, strangers, or enemies. It depends on the _soul_. Our souls call to one another in a way that promises a much stronger bond than we have currently.”

Fíli nodded, looking determined as he placed one strong hand over her much smaller one. The heat between his palm and chest threatened to boil her blood.

“What would you have me do?”

“Court me, Prince Fíli,” Bilbo answered with a grin. “I want you to court me properly. I have already bought you time to learn from my kin of our ways before we draft our final courting contract at the Elvenking's palace. Put in the effort to learn and then apply that knowledge when you sit with Master Balin and King Thorin to create the contract that will bind us together as an intended pair for the next twenty years. We may have plenty of time to get to know one another before we are both of age, but we only have a few weeks travel for you to create a proper Hobbit courting contract. I myself am studying proper Dwarven ones, so that I may offer a contract respectful towards your culture.”

Bilbo forced down the urge to duck her head at the intense look on Fíli's face. She wasn't sure what it meant, but she had seen it often enough between courting couples and spouses. Part of her wanted to ask what he was looking at her like that for, but another part, a much larger part, wanted to knock the growing smirk off his face.

With a mischievous smile and mirth in her eyes, Bilbo surged forward and up so that she was standing on the tips of her toes as she yanked the lad down by his golden tunic. Ignoring the stuttered breath against the hollow of her neck, she tilted her head back to lightly brush her nose across his forehead.

She was on the ground and pushing Fíli back to standing tall and proud before he could manage to get the stunned look off his face. Grinning like a true Took, Bilbo took a single step back with a gentle pat to the babe playing with her braid.

“That is another greeting, Prince Fíli,” she said casually, pushing down the sense of proud glee that came with wiping the smug look from earlier off her Dwarf's face. “It is one between a courting pair and spouses. Do you know why it is different?” Too stunned to answer, Fíli only shook his head. “The first greeting is an introduction. It says 'hello' or 'I know you' without using words. This greeting, however, is more intimate. It tells the other and all who witness that I, your intended, hold you in greater trust and respect than all others. It's a statement. One that claims I trust you without having my eyes on you, I know you without having to see you, and trust my life in your hands enough to bare my throat before your teeth.”

Fíli's skin is a blistering red as he opens his mouth. Bilbo was sure he meant to say something, but all that came out was a hoarse wheeze as he opened and closed his mouth. Shock and something else, something warm and hungry that she could not name, flickered through his eyes as he stared down at her.

Seeing as he couldn't find the words, she left without any of her own. Tossing a wink over her shoulder as she sauntered off, Bilbo pretended she didn't hear her grandfather's booming laughter chasing her steps. It took more effort than she would ever admit, but she managed to not turn around to see how Fíli reacted to her cheek.

Surprisingly, that single event set the pace for the rest of the journey to the Elven King's palace. The little ones would run wild, bouncing place to place while creating flowers beneath their feet, but would always find Bilbo and Fíli to decorate them both in matching flowers.

Though some grumbled at a Dwarven Prince being decorated in such delicate things, Fíli wore them proudly and cheerfully put any who said a word against a single petal into the dirt. Kíli, an ever amused presence at his brother's side, was always happy to help when more than one stepped forward during _training_ sessions with the golden prince.

Fíli had, much to her relief, taken her words to heart. He took care of his duties during the day, but made sure to grasp every opportunity to learn of Hobbit culture and courtship that presented itself to him.

More than that, so much more to Bilbo than that, Fíli did all he could to learn of her people as individuals. He got to know every Hobbit he interacted with on a personal level, and Bilbo rewarded him with blinding smiles and the Hobbit greeting that always left the lad red and stuttering.

Fíli wasn't the only one doing their best to learn while negotiations were being held off until the large group reached the Elvenking's home. When not reading reports from Nori or carrying out her own duties as Thain-Heir, Bilbo busied herself with questioning Ori, Dori, and Balin on all things Dwarven.

Ori and Dís, the only two Dams she had met who knew the ins and outs of courtships from a personal perspective, were sought after to answer any and all questions regarding Dwarven courtships. They answered her readily, and were happy to tell about how their own courting contracts were created.

Ori, bless her dear heart, went as far as to show a copy of her own contract for Bilbo to better learn the wording and intended steps every couple was meant to take.

It was a lot to take in, but Bilbo was determined to do her best to create the perfect contract. She couldn't afford to let her own heritage be pushed aside, but she also couldn't afford to completely ignore the Dwarven side she never knew.

It wouldn't be fair to their people if either of the two cultures were pushed aside in order to appease some opinionated Dwarven Lords and Ladies with a bit of weight to their names. So, for the sake of the people they were proud to be apart of, Bilbo worked just as hard as Fíli in order to prove there was a way for their people to thrive together despite the past they shared.

Bilbo would be the first to admit it was a difficult, nearly impossible, situation for Hobbits and Dwobbits. Everything they knew had been torn apart, but Hobbits were nothing if not adaptable. It was what they were best at. They _adapted_ and _moved on_ when their lives were torn apart and homes taken away.

It had been their history more than once, but they all hoped that perhaps the history they knew this time could truly be rewritten. Perhaps the families and homes that had been lost could once more be rebuilt into something strong. With all their hearts, no matter how much it hurt or how difficult of a journey it was, Bilbo and her kin were all hoping to recreate a true alliance with the once thought betrayers who never truly betrayed them at all.

Bilbo believed they would succeed in time. Even though there was plenty of resentment and distrust due to how the Dwarrow handled a truly awful situation, time and patience would eventually mend those old hurts.

Knowing the Shadow Witch, a _Dwobbit_ of all beings, was the one at the root of the problem certainly helped ease most of the tension between the two races. Having the Men of Dale and Elves of Greenwood also helped smooth things out.

More so, Bilbo came to acknowledge once her people reached the Elvenking's home, having the final draft of the alliance created and signed in such a fortress was the best option for the Hobbits. If they chose to not work with the Dwarrow, the Elves were in a position to defend the smaller folk and offer their protection.

Bilbo was more than informed of the past relations between Dwarrow and Elves. The Dwarrow of Erebor had a steady friendship between the Elves of Greenwood in remembrance to the steady friendship and almost motherly guidance of King Tranduil's late Queen towards the late Queens of Erebor. Despite that, relationships between Dwarrow and Elves of other places remained strained. If the Hobbits chose to remove themselves from Erebor and her people, the Elves would support them and see them to safety. Erebor would be able to do nothing without damaging their relationship with their strongest ally.

She explained her observations to Gerontius once all her people were safely settled in rooms of their own. Despite how many Hobbits and Dwobbits there were, King Thranduil's palace was far too large for their vast number to put a dent on the many wings and chambers within his fortress.

He graciously offered an entire wing for their use before parting ways. A messenger showed up not long after to invite Gerontius and Bilbo to dinner. They were welcome to bring a plus one, so Hildifons and Flambard were ordered to prepare themselves for a feast before they could hide anywhere.

Until then, Bilbo had chosen to rest in her grandfather's room to review the latest contract drafted by Balin. It wasn't going well.

“I don't like it,” Gerontius grumbled, frowning at the papers spread across the table as if they personally offended him.

“And why would that be,” Bilbo sighed, rolling her eyes for what felt like the tenth time in five minutes.

“It's not good enough.”

“You've said that about all the contracts.”

“Because none of them have been good enough!” Gerontius smacked the papers as if doing so would make them disappear.

“And what exactly is the problem with this one?”

“It's just bad!”

Bilbo sighed once again, but didn't try and comment further as Gerontius began ranting about how terrible Fíli's newest courting contract was.

Honestly, there was nothing wrong with it. Even Dori, who was more than happy to offer his opinions on every single word written, could find no fault in the newest one. If her sire – no, her newly discovered _father_ – did not find fault in it, then it meant there was none to be found.

Even Ori and Nori had whistled appreciatively at the work Fíli put into making sure their contract would incorporate both Dwarrow and Hobbit traditions. That action alone should stand as a sign of near perfection.

Gerontius, however, refused to be pleased no matter what was presented to him. Bilbo had assured a rather concerned Fíli that it was simply a Took trait to make things as difficult as possible when a suitor stepped forward to court a Took woman.

Dwalin and Balin backed her on that claim alongside Dori and, surprisingly, Frerin, so Fíli had taken a breath and simply took all of Gerontius' glares and grumbles in stride. Bilbo, in a bid to try and keep her grandfather from driving her intended insane with worry, started to ignore his rants and offer distractions.

Even if those distractions were about things she truly hated speaking on.

“Grandfather, would it be alright to wear my mother's cloak when we do the official announcement of our courtship,” she asked, nearly wincing at the sudden silence at her back.

Bilbo continued to run her fingers through her hair, being careful to avoid the delicate blooms braided throughout the silver, and forced her shoulders not to curl in worry as Gerontius heaved himself to his feet with a sigh.

Despite her efforts, her chin still dropped the moment her grandfather's gnarled hand rested gently on her shoulder. Though she felt warmth and care from the touch, there was a weight to it from heavy concern.

“Do you wish to reveal her secret in such a way?”

Bilbo took a breath, steadied her nerves, and nodded. Though showing the Dwarrow meant possibly opening herself up to the hatred of the Durin and Ri Dwarrow she cared for, Bilbo could not allow herself to enter into a courtship without allowing them a chance to learn the tale of evil and light, despair and hope, hate and love if they wished to.

If they wanted answers, they could find them wrapped around her shoulders and trailing her frame.

Fíli would either accept the knowledge before everyone, or cast her aside for her mother's actions. She hoped for the first, but had every intention of having her magic ring on her person if the second outcome came to be instead.

When it came to a Durin temper, it was best to be prepared.

“Well, I suppose all I can do is give you my permission,” Gerontius said softly, stepping in front of her to stare into her eyes. “Wear her cloak, my blossom, but do not let the story it carries become your shackles. You are not your mother. Do not let her actions be what condemns you.”

“I won't. I promise.”

For the first time that she could remember, Bilbo wasn't so sure she would be able to keep her word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview:
> 
> Fíli was going mad. Kíli was absolutely certain of it.
> 
> Though he was more than proud of his brother for putting in so much effort over the last weeks to get to know the Hobbits and Dwobbits, it was a bit worrying to see his usually steadfast brother looking so ruffled when he would return to the tent every night.
> 
> He spent hours pouring all the information he learned into a journal before going to sleep. He studied every word when he had time, and then went through everything with Balin to prepare a proper courting contract.
> 
> It all seemed like far too much work, but Fíli didn't seem to agree.
> 
> Ori didn't either, for that matter. She'd plainly said his actions and efforts, his struggling, was for more than just the sake of a contract. Kíli agreed, but didn't really understand. He knew his intended was never wrong though, so he just needed to pay closer attention until he did finally get it.
> 
> It took another week, but he finally understood.
> 
> It was in seeing the difference in the interactions between the Dwarrow and Hobbits at the time compared to weeks before that made him understand.
> 
> Fíli wasn't running himself into the ground for the sake of creating some perfect contract that his One wouldn't be able to refuse, but for the sake of healing a broken bond between a wronged people. He was working so hard for the sake of his people.
> 
> Kíli felt he should have realized that sooner.
> 
> After the understanding came a burst of annoyance towards Bilbo for asking so much from his brother. He sought her out to tell her exactly how he felt about doing so, but was struck silent by seeing the same actions of his brother reflected in her own behavior.
> 
> It was then he realized that his brother, his golden light of a brother who no one had ever been able to equal to before, had finally found the one to match him every step of the way as if a mirror of his own soul.
> 
> His brother had looked near to tears when he told him that, and said that was how Hobbits and Dwobbits saw Ones.
> 
> Kíli found he could very easily forgive Bilbo after that.
> 
> Now, however, it wasn't Bilbo Kíli was growing angry with. It was his own brother. His usually calm and collected brother who hadn't stopped pacing the length of their shared room for over an hour.
> 
> The green rug would most certainly have to be replaced.
> 
> Dwarven tread, as their mother liked to tell them, was impossible to remove.


End file.
